


The Ones We Hate

by 50mg



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Murder Husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-03-31 02:49:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 27,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3961630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/50mg/pseuds/50mg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal thinks they are kindred spirits. Will isn't sure if he agrees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read. Based entirely on the TV show, diverging from canon after season one, though there are bits of season two in here. As of this fic, I haven't watched season three, so any character development that occurred in the third season will, of course, not be present here. 
> 
> The title is a line from the song Candles by Daughter.

Will waits and he plots and he sits in cold silence, his rage sinking deep into the marrow of his bones. It's an ugly, seething anger, and at times it feels as though the rage has hollowed him out entirely and filled him with its leaden presence. Some days Will thinks he might not be able to move because of it, that he'll grow slower and slower in its paralyzing grip, unable to fulfill his desire for revenge. 

(It's ironic that he recognizes the danger his fury brings him so early on- he had time to prevent his anger from becoming his undoing, and yet---)

He works tirelessly to get out or at least affect Hannibal Lecter, his once-friend. Matthew Brown is a failure, but Will hadn't expected much from him. He could always hope, of course, and he had, but the attack was meant more as an invitation. Will figured that speaking in Hannibal's language was the best way of getting his attention. He's walked in the minds of killers before, and so he knows they can't seem to resist the call of another like them. 

(But what kind of call will Hannibal take it as? Later, Randall Tier will show Will how the man had taken it, but he doesn't know this yet.)

They meet and exchange remarks heavy with implications through a thick plastic barrier. And suddenly Will is free and he can do as he pleases without Chilton's slime getting in the way, so he goes home to his dogs and his rage and his plans. Will brushes off Jack's job offers and the FBI's calls and resumes his therapy with Hannibal- the man seems to enjoy his company even more now that they recognize one another. 

Hannibal thinks they are kindred spirits. Will isn't sure if he agrees, but every time he tries to deny it he remembers the calm determination he felt when sending Matthew Brown hunting, and the simple acceptance upon hearing of the man's failure. Then Randall Tier comes crashing through his front window, and though the adrenaline causes tremors to run up his arms (he's only human, after all) he feels no hesitation, no squeamishness, in doing what needs to be done. 

And that is when Will realizes that he is Hannibal's equal- they've exchanged killers, much as couples exchange gifts- and the notion rattles him. The kind of revenge he dreams of isn't moral in any regard, but knowing that Hannibal expects Will to join him beyond humanity is unsettling; while he'd always been a step apart from others, Will had never thought of cultivating the disdain for humanity that Hannibal possessed, and this confusing opportunity is what leads him to Hannibal's door late one snowy evening with Randall's organs neatly packaged in brown paper. 

Will knocks twice carefully, mindful of his burden, and then his- enemy? Friend? Something else entirely?- opens the door, smiling as he sees the package. 

Hannibal gestures to his spacious entry, a silent invitation, and Will hesitates, knowing that his next move determines his future. He shifts uneasily, staring at Hannibal, who merely quirks his lips further. Their eyes meet, and Will swallows at the intensity of Hannibal's gaze. He isn't quite sure what will happen inside, but- he's here, and he has what they need for dinner, and it's been so long since they last shared a meal- and so Will gathers himself and steps over the threshold, Hannibal beckoning him inside.


	2. Chapter 2

They stare at one another over glasses of wine, Hannibal content to watch Will in silence. Will resists the urge to twitch his glasses off for cleaning to avoid the other’s gaze- an urge he hasn’t felt since he was imprisoned. It’s an odd sensation now, and realizing that his oldest idiosyncrasy (a social crutch, in truth) is resurrected because of Hannibal is unsettling. Though Hannibal has clearly recognized him as an equal, Will doesn’t feel as though they’re on even footing. He’s adrift in uncertainty, and the other man’s silence isn’t doing much to alleviate his discomfort. 

At last he steels himself, forcing his gaze up and away from his glass. Hannibal smiles placidly, meeting his eyes with an enviable serenity. Will freezes, absently noting that he never reveals his teeth. As though he could read his mind, Hannibal quirks an eyebrow at Will.

“While this certainly isn’t a formal therapy session, I'd hoped to draw you into a discussion regarding our… mutual acquaintances,” he rebukes gently. Will hides from the pointed remark by taking an overly large gulp of wine. Eventually, though, he swallows the last of it, and Hannibal waits patiently for him to speak.

“Is that what they were? I have to admit that I’ve been confused about their significance to our relationship. Although I’m not really sure what that is either,” Will mumbles. He looks down at his slacks, refusing the temptation to rub his hands up and down them. Though he’d left the flannel behind when he was released, Will can’t hope to compare to Hannibal’s bespoke suits. Hannibal tracks his gaze, ending on his hands.

“That is for the two of us to decide. We have an unlimited potential and all the time in the world to follow our desires. I believe Randall Tier helped you realize what those desires are.”

Will snorts. “I don’t think Jack will give us that time. When I was released he offered me my old job back. Seemed to think that it would make up for everything. I turned him down, but it seems to have only increased his persistence in chasing the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“His pursuit will mean nothing without capture. Much as I have enjoyed roaming Quantico’s halls, I find them somewhat lacking without your company. That leaves you as his only hope. Do you intend to aid him?” Hannibal replies. He’s genuinely curious, and Will knows he won’t be offended if the answer is yes.

Will pauses, considering his wine. He looks back up at Hannibal, maintaining eye contact for several seconds before speaking. 

“No. I’ve given too much of myself to the FBI. And besides, whatever this is between us is personal. I don’t want Jack involved in any capacity,” he says. And it’s true- though Will honestly doesn’t know how he wants this to end, he knows that he wants it to remain between him and Hannibal.

Hannibal smiles into his glass, gently swirling the wine. He pauses to appreciate its fruity scent, closing his eyes and inhaling slowly. Will watches his nostrils dilate, wondering what it would be like to have that focus on him. He knows that Hannibal has scented him before, but he hadn’t known at the time, and though Hannibal performs the action with ease it seems almost erotic.

Will swallows, tongue sticking to the top of his mouth. He hadn’t really thought of Hannibal in that way- although, he hadn’t really thought of Hannibal in any way at all when he was sick, merely instinctively clutching to the man as a lifeline. Now that he has the presence of mind to analyze himself, he can’t help but be surprised by the strength of his desire to be near Hannibal. He’s still not quite sure the manner in which he wants to be near Hannibal, nor what he wants to be to the man. 

His musing is interrupted by Hannibal’s soft voice. “I can certainly appreciate the sentiment. There is a certain intimacy that would be lost if we divulged the intricacies of our relationship to others.”

“Intricacies,” Will repeats faintly. “I don’t think that’s the word for sending murderers after one another.”

“Perhaps not,” Hannibal allows. His smile grows. “But to offer one another sustenance, to provide for each other- that could easily fit in such a category.”

Will fidgets suddenly. “I wasn’t- I brought… meat… tonight, not because- it was a spur of the moment decision, “ he finishes lamely. 

“Either way, the gesture is appreciated. Speaking of, shall we prepare dinner? It’s been some time since we last shared a meal, and I’ve missed your presence at my table,” Hannibal says. He stands, not giving Will a chance to answer (or, rather, fumble with his words for several minutes) and makes his way to the kitchen entrance. “After you.”

Ever the gentleman, Hannibal gestures toward the heart of his home. Will pauses, trying to decide whether or not to chug the last of his wine, and decides to take it with him, figuring that he’d need the fortification for what was to come. He stands and allows Hannibal to guide him from the room, wondering what he was getting himself into. But he knew that he had come to far and had too many questions that needed answering to turn away, and so the two men went to work together- at least for the time being.


	3. Chapter 3

Hannibal sets Will to chopping a head of lettuce while he unwraps Randall Tier’s remains. The two of them work in silence- companionable on Hannibal’s part and nervous on Will’s. Out of the corner of his eye Will sees Hannibal’s deft hands pause over the organs, cataloguing them. Will is certain that Hannibal notices the heart’s conspicuous absence. He’s still not sure of its significance. Hannibal slides closer, slotting himself neatly at the crook of Will’s elbow. 

Will can’t help but shy away at the sudden invasion of personal space. He skitters away to the other side of the island, ostensibly to fetch the salad bowl. Not a single muscle moves in Hannibal’s face, but Will can feel the satisfaction radiating off the man- though whether he’s pleased to have unnerved Will or he can sense Will’s inner turmoil is unclear. Knowing Hannibal it’s both. 

They continue in this manner for some time, Hannibal gliding soundlessly closer to Will and the former FBI specialist dancing away nervously. Once the lungs are in the oven to cook (some unpronounceable French dish that Will is sure will be delicious), Hannibal’s incursions cease. Will, suspicious, clutches the salad bowl to his chest like a shield. 

“So,” Hannibal says. “You have brought the meat and I have prepared it. Such a domestic evening.”

“Frighteningly so,” Will mutters quietly. Hannibal smirks at him. He retrieves a set of salad plates from a cupboard and returns to the island. Will realizes that this means he must lose the bowl and thus his buffer. He reluctantly slides it to the other side of the counter, feeling stupid. He doesn’t fear Hannibal, just- he’s not sure what he wants from the man, and he’s afraid that he might be too eager to accept whatever Hannibal suggests. The lack of personal space this evening is a solid indication of what could occur. 

Hannibal dishes out the salad. “Which dressing would you prefer?” he asks, pulling out two expensive looking bottles. Will pauses, staring at him. Bringing Randall Tier to the dinner tonight was a snap decision, and while Will is not as comfortable with those as he’d like to be, he is intrigued by the implications of Hannibal’s actions, and so makes another sudden choice.

“I’ll defer to your good judgment. Whatever you think is best will work for me,” he replies, blinking up at Hannibal demurely. The other man stills briefly before cocking his head to the left. It’s a predatory immobility, but Will’s nerves have steadied, and being on the receiving end of Hannibal’s intense scrutiny is… flattering. Perhaps more so than he’s comfortable admitting at the moment, but flattering nonetheless. 

Hannibal smiles, dark and feral, as if sensing Will’s sudden change of heart. He sets the salad tongs on the counter slowly, delicately, before turning to Will. He abandons the salad, stalking around the island. Will doesn’t move, watching him with dark eyes, still not quite sure if this is what he wants- but then Hannibal is in front of him, crowding him against the island, though careful to ensure that they don’t touch (yet, Will thinks breathlessly). He tilts his head to the other side, eyes sliding up and down Will, face expressionless, though Will can see behind the mask, see the hunger. 

And it’s all for me, he thinks with a sudden clarity. A heady gratification sweeps over him. They stare at one another for an uncertain period of time. Will isn’t sure which of them moves first, but they both end up leaning in towards each other- and then Will’s phone rings, blaring out a tinny jingle. One of the awful preset options, he thinks, whipping around to glare at the offending gadget. Hannibal sighs next to him, moving back to the fridge to withdraw yet another dinner ingredient. The moment lost, Will grabs his phone, unlocking the screen with undue violence. 

“This isn’t the best time,” he growls. “I’m in the middle of—“

“It’s Abigail,” Jack interrupts. “We think we have a lead on her.”

Will freezes, wanting but unable to turn and look at Hannibal. “What?” he chokes out at last, reaching up to clutch his phone with both hands. He can hear Hannibal moving behind him, can feel his gaze. 

“I need you here,” Jack says. “Now.” He hangs up abruptly. 

Will lowers his phone slowly, staring at the screen. He feels his throat closing off, his body threatening to betray him in a way he hasn’t dealt with since being treated for his encephalitis. “I… I have to go,” he whispers, whipping around the island and towards the hall door. 

He hears Hannibal say his name as he drags his coat on, but he doesn’t stop. Will hadn’t forgotten about Abigail, not by any means, but he had put his vengeance for her on the back burner while he reinserted himself into Hannibal’s life. Now that there’s a chance for- something, whether it’s her, alive, or some degree of closure, he isn’t sure, but Will burns to leave the house and get to Jack as soon as possible. 

Hannibal calls after him once more, but Will doesn’t hear it over the sound of the door being ripped open. He checks for his phone and his keys and slips into his car, swiftly vanishing out into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

"Jack!" Will calls, pushing past a gaggle of trainees. "Jack, what did you find?"

Jack turns to face Will but doesn't answer immediately, pausing to look him over. "I know you've refused my offers to come back," he says in lieu of a proper greeting. He leans against the conference room table. "But we need you on this one. Abigail needs you on this one."

"Is she alive?" Will clenches his fists, breathless. When Jack doesn't answer he swivels his head, looking over the room and hoping for some kind of clue. 

"We don't know," Jack says. He sighs, rubbing a hand over tired eyes. Will doesn't care enough anymore to seek the source of the man's exhaustion, but his empathy tells him it's due to late nights thinking of Bella. Will doesn't (or is it that he can't?) care about them, his fever having burned out his compassion. At last his gaze settles on Jack, demanding silently. 

"There was a girl spotted in downtown Baltimore two nights ago. Blonde, not the right height or weight, apparently, but she had a scar in the same place as Abigail."

"That's it?" Will asks disbelievingly. "You called me in, gave me hope, all because of a scar?" He runs his hands through his hair, tugging harshly out of frustration. 

Jack rose, invading Will's personal space (a far less pleasant closeness than what he'd experienced earlier), jutting out his chin. "A barkeep called it in, thinking it was her. Alana asked the team to go check it out. The witness was some kind of crime show fan- kept the glass the girl drank out of and everything. They tested the DNA against the ear we found in your home."

Will stares hard at Jack. "And?" 

"It's a match. We don't know how, but it must have been Abigail."

Will swallows, backing away. He sinks into one of the chairs surrounding the conference table. "But... How?" he mumbles. "I know we never found a body, and I had hoped... This doesn't make sense."

"So far we think she's hiding under a false identity, assuming this whole thing isn't an elaborate plot to confuse us. The staff said the name on the ID was Beth Walter."

Will melts further into the chair. He can practically hear Jack's next words:

"You realize how this looks, right? Before she disappeared in Minnesota Abigail Hobbes was a suspect in the murder of Nicholas Boyle and as an accomplice to her father's murders. Before, we thought-"

"You thought I killed her. And ate her," Will interrupts. He refuses to bring a hand up to shield his face the way that he would have before, though his fingers twitch slightly (a sign of his fortitude, but his newfound courage can leave him undefended at the worst times). Jack sighs long and low. 

"Yes," he replies, blunt and unashamed. Jack pulls another chair in front of Will, straddling it as he had so many times before. "This changes things. Even though the kills we thought were yours were claimed we still didn't know what had happened to her. This is incredibly suspicious. Why would she vanish if she had nothing to hide? She may not be the copycat, but she's officially being considered a dangerous individual."

"If that's her," Will says. Jack glances sharply at him. 

"It was her DNA, Will, there's no mistaking that. We got some security footage from outside the building and even though the height's not perfect, it's close enough for it to be her. She's in disguise but she hasn't left Baltimore, and I want to know why."

So does Will. He can't fathom how Hannibal could use her against him this time, although a small part of him, bolstered by their meeting this evening, suggests that he may have intended Abigail's resurrection as a gift. Though Will knows that Hannibal doesn't regret framing him, perhaps the other man feels the need to ply him with gifts to get close once more. He frowns, wearily rubbing his chin. 

Despite Will's contrary remarks he genuinely believes that the girl Jack is talking about is Abigail. He's simply using his stubbornness as a means to gain time to process. Will wants to see her again, desperately, but he's not sure what that will mean for the two of them- or for him and Hannibal. He rises, pretending to stare at the scant information tacked to the bulletin board as he chooses his words. 

"Why do you need me? Why call me? It shouldn't be necessary to get my help, especially if you're not even sure that it's Abigail."

Will knows Jack well enough to realize that he won't admit that it's a conciliatory gesture, the latest of his attempts to draw Will back into the agency, but he's curious as to what Jack's excuse will be. 

"She disappeared once, so well that even though we didn't have a body we thought she was dead. Abigail Hobbes has been off of our radar this entire time. You don't manage that without help or prior experience. I want to know which she has- and how she got it."

So Jack, despite his earlier words, clearly believes that the young woman from the bar is Abigail Hobbes. Will turns away from the board and towards Jack. 

"What will you do if it is her? If you manage to find her?" he whispers, shoving his hands into his pockets. (It wouldn't do for Jack to see the fists he's made- the man is the head of the BSU for a reason, and he would surely see the protective violence these fists threaten.)

Jack approaches him slowly. "We'd have to take her in. Question her. Her supposed death meant that we never suspected her of the mess during your trial, but this changes things. If she got away from us before we think she worked with the murderer."

"The murderers, you mean. I suppose it's the Chesapeake Ripper you want," Will says, wary, looking away. 

"Yes. We're closer than we've ever been and I think she's  
our key to him," Jack replies. 

"You're referring to Hannibal Lecter," Will says, a question in his voice. He remembers telling Jack who the Ripper was, his intense fury, his desperation after the failure to convince Jack. The other man pauses. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other but doesn't reply at first. 

"I checked out the food from the dinner party. It contained no human remains," he says at last, slowly, carefully. 

Will catches his gaze. "You wouldn't have. He knows that you've heard what I have to say, that you have your suspicions."

Jack stares back, eyes hard. "And you're certain that it's not Chilton? He tried to flee, after all. Miriam Lass confirmed that it was him."

Will is silent. He's already told Jack about Hannibal, so he can't just recant without suspicion. He knows he has to choose his words with care in order to keep this between Hannibal and himself. Will sidles over to the conference table, idly toying with a forgotten pen. He glances out of the corner of his eye, pretending hesitance. 

"I'm... Reevaluating what I know to be true about the Ripper," he murmurs, clicking the ballpoint in and out. Jack looks unconvinced, but not overly so, and he says nothing. "I'm not saying it isn't Hannibal Lecter, but... I'm not saying it isn't Chilton, not anymore."

Jack, apparently resigning himself to those meager words, turns to the bulletin board. "Well, regardless, I want you in on this. You can be a great asset."

Will mulls it over for a moment, clicking the pen to the beat of his heart. "...I'll do it for her, Jack. And this is the only case I'll work with you on. After we close this, I'm done for good. I mean it this time."

He abandons the pen and walks around Jack so he can force the man to look at him. "No more calls," Will says. "No more letters or asking our mutual acquaintances to drop hints. I'm through."

Jack sighs, louder than ever. "I can't promise not to ask you again, Will," he replies, rubbing hit temples. 

Will moves back to the table, pen once more in hand. Click-click, click-click. The steady beat gives him something to focus on, making it easier to control is ire. He purses his lips and decides to drop the subject for now. "Do you have any files you want me to look at, or are we done here?" he asks, fingers tightening around the pen. 

"No," Jack eventually says. "I'll have the forensics people put together a package for you and have it dropped off tomorrow morning."

"Fine. I'm leaving then."

Will strides to the door quickly, half-expecting Jack to stop him, to try to get him to look over another case file, but his exit is unimpeded. When he gets out of the building he stops and stares unseeing into the sky, breath misting around his face. The meeting hadn't gone quite as he had expected, although neither of the evening's meetings did, he thinks. Will feels his phone buzz and checks the screen. 

(1) MISSED CALL- HANNIBAL LECTER. (0) NEW VOICEMAILS. 

His finger hovers over the call back option. Will isn't sure how long he stands out in the dark, but eventually he locks the screen, knowing that he can't bear to be around Hannibal at the moment- not after both the (admittedly pleasant) tension and Jack's revelation. He sighs, shoving his phone back in his pocket and retrieving his keys. Will begins the trek to his car, keys tinkling in his grasp, wishing that things were simpler. He hadn't planned for any of this- he'd meant for his revenge to be and in and out job, as simple as clicking a pen- and even though he has a vague resentment towards his circumstances Will steels himself, steadying his feelings to the beat of his heart, and marches onward.


	5. Chapter 5

It is nearly ten o'clock when Will wakes up, having tossed and turned until dawn. He rolls onto his stomach, feeling exhausted after his brief snatches of sleep. Since Will was freed he'd been sleeping better, but last night he was consumed with thoughts of Abigail (and, if he were to be honest with himself, more than a few of Hannibal). The dogs are for the most part quiet, the silence of his house broken only by their snuffling and yawns. 

Will drifts for several minutes before glancing over to his phone. He eyes it with trepidation before unlocking it. There is a voicemail from Jack telling him that the case files wouldn't be delivered to his house until the afternoon, but there are no new messages from Hannibal. Will isn't sure how he feels about that. On the one hand, he doesn't really feel ready to talk to the man at the moment, but he can't help feeling disappointed. 

Jack's message said that the delivery would be around two, so Will has time to gather his thoughts about the case. He rolls his phone from hand to hand, thinking muddled by fatigue. The motion attracts the dogs, and they spring up as a whole, clamoring for food. 

Will spends the next two hours outside with his pack, slowly accumulating a layer of fur and mud for his troubles. Once the last of the dogs has circled back to settle at his feet he walks them back to the house for lunch. Will spends a solid fifteen minutes wiping the dogs down so they can go inside. Once done, he dishes out their portions and microwaves some takeout for himself. 

Before his imprisonment Will's fridge would have been filled with Hannibal's cooking- his kills. Will pauses, considering the empty shelves and drawers. Though he would have been horrified at the time, Will cannot deny that Hannibal had provided well for him. His musing is interrupted by his phone's raucous beeping. 

HANNIBAL LECTER ringing.  
ANSWER - IGNORE - END CALL

Speak of the devil, Will thinks. Running a thumb across the phone screen, he shifts uneasily, unsure of what to do. Winston pads up to him, rubbing along his legs. Will drops his free hand to the dog, sinking his fingers into deep fur. 

"What do you think, boy?" Will asks. Winston curiously sniffs at the phone before snorting at Will. "Yeah, me too."

His finger slides the phone open to answer. He can hear Hannibal's greeting, but Will finds that he can't bring himself to answer for a moment. 

"Will? Are you alright?" Hannibal asks. His voice is carefully neutral, but Will can hear the urgency hidden underneath. He takes a deep breath before he replies. 

"I'm... Here," he says. "I talked to Jack last night."

Hannibal is silent. Will gives him a few seconds before quietly continuing. "Abigail is alive." 

"Ah," comes the unhelpful response. Will puts his face in his free hand, moving to tug at his hair in frustration. 

"'Ah?' That's all you have to say?" he snaps. "You have to give me more than that. I know this is your handiwork."

Hannibal remains infuriatingly quiet. Will snarls into the receiver, tempted to hang up. "If you don't say something now I'm not going to give you the chance to later."

"Will," Hannibal says, tone placating. "Allow me to explain."

The dogs are snuffling at Will's feet, his anger making them anxious. He begins pacing around the living room, waving his free hand. 

"Explain what? You let me believe she was dead. You made me think that I'd been the one to kill her!" Will's gestures become wild and he almost walks into one of the dogs. "Why should I listen to you? You'll only try to lie to me!"

Hannibal sighs. "I would not lie to you over this-"

"Because now I can see your lies for what they are!" Will shouts. "You can't fool me the way you did before, so what's the point of talking about this?"

"Abigail was meant as a surprise for you, Will," Hannibal says. "I saved her for you. I know how much she means to you."

Will stomps to a halt. The sentiment behind Hannibal's words freezes him in place. The paternal bond he began with Abigail is joined by thoughts of his old friendship with Hannibal. Last night hadn't been an invitation to rekindle their friendship- it was an offer of a new partnership, though not a conventional one in any sense of the term, but the idea of any sort of closeness with Hannibal makes him eager. 

Will stumbles to his bed, sinking down on the mattress with a deep sigh. His anger is muted now, still simmering beneath the surface, but last night has changed things between the two of them. And now, knowing that Abigail is alive, he feels the urge to regain his small family- the three of them against the world, as it had been. 

He wilts onto the bed, curls flopping against the grungy mattress. Hannibal is quiet again, apparently doing his best not to further antagonize Will. They sigh almost in unison. 

"When were you going to tell me?" Will asks. He feels drained, hoping that the answer is short. 

"I hadn't planned on a specific time, but it would have been soon. Will, I believe that it would be best to discuss this in person. Please."

The quiet plea is what convinces Will to agree. "Fine. Is she going to be there?" he murmurs, dragging a hand across his face. 

Hannibal pauses. "No," he says at last. "It will just be the two of us."

Will sits up, anger melting away in the face of curiosity. The man had seemed even more reserved than usual with that remark- there is a strain to the words that implies that Hannibal is not entirely in control. Though he had already decided to go, this only strengthens Will's resolve to meet up with Hannibal. Even if the man's explanations are unsatisfactory, Will is fairly sure that he can get a clue as to Abigail's whereabouts, and possibly the source of Hannibal's tension. 

"Alright, what time do you want to meet?"

"You never did get your dinner last night," Hannibal says. "If you're free this evening we can pick up where we left off."

The words are said innocently enough, but Will bristles at the clear hope they possess. It's not that the possibility from last night excites him, but Hannibal's assumptions rankle. "...I guess that's fine. I'll be over at seven. Be ready."

He hangs up without giving Hannibal time to reply. Will has two hours until the case files come, though now he's not sure how much he'll need them. He still doesn't trust Hannibal, however, so he fully intends to gather as much information as possible. 

Abigail... While she's obviously doing well, given that Will last thought her dead, he can't help but worry, especially now that the FBI is hunting her. Hannibal's reluctance to speak on the matter is another concern. He had helped Abigail conceal Nicholas Boyle's death, and while the girl is clearly capable Hannibal had to have helped her disappear. Given his surprise, the psychiatrist wouldn't have allowed her to roam freely, so something must have happened between the two of them. 

Will intends to make the most of his time, largely using it to rebuild his mental fortifications so that he can better deal with Hannibal. He settles onto his bed, inviting his dogs up so they can cuddle. Surrounded by piles of fur, a paw digging into his elbow, Will rests, waiting for Jack's delivery and his later meeting with Hannibal.


	6. Chapter 6

The doorbell rings once, then again impatiently, the dogs barking madly as they swarm the entryway. Will wades through the sea of fur and wedges the door open, shushing the pack. 

"I have a package for you, Mr. Graham. These are the case files Agent Crawford has for you," says a very large, very bored agent. He snaps the files at Will's hand, clearly eager to be off. Will raises an eyebrow and the files flap again. "I've some important business to attend to, so unless you have something you'd like to say..." the muscle trails off with little subtlety. 

Will leisurely takes the files, ignoring the agent. As he begins to leaf through them the agent moves off his porch, clearly giving up on Will in favor of keeping his schedule. He turns back once he reaches the car to check on Will, who closes his door in response. The dogs follow Will to the couch, where he flops down, discarding the files seconds after. He has no investment in the case, and he can't bring himself to concentrate on the FBI when he has his dinner coming soon. 

Will wonders when he'll see Abigail- and why she won't be at the dinner. That strange hint of tension from Hannibal is curious. If he hadn't picked up on that then Will would have assumed that Hannibal wanted the two of them to be alone, but that's clearly not the case. 

The heightened awareness that Will had experienced when he was last with Hannibal had been surprising, though not entirely unwanted. Will's not sure if he can restrain himself to speaking about Abigail tonight, despite his burning need to assure himself of her safety. There's a certain magnetism to Hannibal that commands his full attention. 

Will is torn, and, knowing he'll get nothing useful done in the next few hours, decides to ignore his contrasting desires by taking his dogs out again, fully intent on playing mindlessly with them to distract himself. 

After shoving a palmful of treats in his pocket Will herds the pack outside. The dogs take off immediately, and when one of them finds a particularly intriguing stick Will focuses on throwing it for them. 

After an indeterminate amount of time (Will refuses to allow himself to obsessively check his watch), the sun begins to set, so he calls the dogs back and they all head for the house. Once more the dogs need to be wiped down, so Will spends the last of twilight rubbing them with towels. The repetitive motions are soothing, allowing his mind to be blank. 

By the time the dogs are inside and fed Will realizes that he needs to shower and leave immediately or risk being late. A quick wash and change into nicer clothes and he's out the door.

During the drive Will tries to come up with a battle plan. Eventually he decides that watching Hannibal dance around the topic of Abigail will be more useful than asking the man outright. He hopes to get some form of contact information for Abigail, but Will doubts Hannibal will give it to him- though, Will thinks suddenly, he may not even have that- that could be the source of the tension. 

Will knows that his response to Hannibal's... activities... is far from normal, and though Abigail must have experienced something similar with her father she may have fled upon realizing the extent of Hannibal's depravity. 

He reaches Hannibal's house five minutes before seven, pulling into the drive and debating whether or not he should wait in the care. His conflict is settled when Hannibal, apparently waiting, opens his front door and beckons Will inside. 

If nothing else, Will muses, this dinner will be interesting. Seeing Hannibal, Will feels strangely prepared in spite of his refusing to think, so he turns the car off, unbuckles himself, and heads boldly off to the house.


	7. Chapter 7

Hannibal immediately descends on Will with a glass of wine and a charming smile. “Please, let me take your coat,” he says, exchanging the glass for Will’s ragged jacket. “I’m putting the finishing touches on the meal, so please head for the dining room.”

Will slides down the hall, smelling the wine without drinking it. He doesn’t need liquid courage tonight, not when he knows what to expect from Hannibal. Will settles in his customary chair just as Hannibal enters the room. Ever the gracious host, Hannibal asks Will if there’s anything he’d like before the meal, but Will doesn’t take him up on any offers. Instead, he simply watches Hannibal move off to the kitchen, gaze trailing down the man’s body. 

The meal is, as always, expertly presented and delicious, and the two men spend a few moments eating in an appreciative silence. Once his initial hunger was satisfied, Will sets his fork down and waits for Hannibal’s eyes to meet his. 

“So,” Will says, folding his hands in his lap. He doesn’t add anything else to his statement, letting the words hang expectantly between them. 

Hannibal’s lips twitch briefly before his face settles back into a mask. “So,” he replies. 

There is a brief staring contest, Will impassive, Hannibal quietly amused. After several seconds Hannibal looks away from Will’s eyes, down to his lips, then ever so slowly back up again. Oh, Will thinks. So that’s where Hannibal wants to take the evening. He had expected the psychiatrist to circle around the topic of Abigail for hours without revealing anything, but apparently the man is confident enough of Will’s interest to ignore the elephant in the room. 

Will studies Hannibal, considering his best angle of attack. It looks as though he’ll have to bring up Abigail himself. He leans forward, licking his lips. Hannibal breaks eye contact again and Will realizes just how distracting he can be for the man. It’s strangely appealing to have that much power over someone so adept at manipulation, and he decides to use this to his advantage. 

Will leans over the table, nearly laying on his dish, and Hannibal mirrors him, apparently unaware of the danger to his vest. Will tilts his head and stretches a hand out toward the middle of the table. Though he tries to appear calm and collected, Hannibal’s flared nostrils betray his interest. 

“Hannibal,” Will says. “Where is Abigail Hobbes?”

Hannibal stiffens, then leans back abruptly. Will hides a smirk at the man’s obvious disappointment. 

Hannibal sniffs before adjusting his tie. “She is in Baltimore,” he says, lips pursed. 

“Have you hidden her in a secret apartment here?” Will asks, settling back into his seat.

Though Hannibal never displays the extent of his emotions, Will knows him well enough to know that his current expression is similar to what he’d make after eating a lemon. His fingers twitch once. 

“She has settled down quite nicely on her own,” he says, looking away. Will cocks an eyebrow at him. “Though I cannot tell you where.”

Will resists the urge to snarl. 

“What happened?” he asks, voice now dangerously quiet. Hannibal looks up again, lips smoothing out. “Why isn’t she with you? How is she alive?”

More subtle fidgeting. “Did you think I’d forget that you made me she was dead? That I killed her?”

“Will,” Hannibal says, tone conciliatory. “I never intended to kill her. As I said over the phone, I saved her for you.”

“But what does that mean, Hannibal? I would have rotted in the asylum-”

“If the Chesapeake Ripper had not claimed his kills, then yes, you would have,” Hannibal interrupts. Will freezes, thoughts racing. Yes, he thinks, that was why he’d been set free in the first place, wasn’t it? Hannibal was the one that imprisoned him, lied to him, but it was also Hannibal that had seen to his release. Will stares at Hannibal, confused once more.

There is a long pause in which they simply look at one another, unmoving. “Why?” Will asks at last. “What was the point of all this?”

Hannibal leans toward him, hand inching towards Will’s. “I must confess that I had originally intended for you to remain imprisoned, Will, but… Once you were in Chilton’s grasp I realized that I preferred to have constant access to you.”

Constant access- an admission of desire, though cloaked in sterile words to conceal the emotion. Will snorts suddenly, imagining Hannibal during his imprisonment, sitting in his office at their appointed time, gazing forlornly at the door while drinking a hideously expensive wine. 

“A fall guy,” he says, picking up his wine. Will swirls it around distractedly. “I get that.”

Hannibal perks up at this admission. “I didn’t say I’m ok with it,” Will snaps. Hannibal visibly deflates. Will sighs before continuing, anger subsiding. “Look, I understand the whys of all that. Again, I’m not saying I forgive you, or that I plan to try, but what I really want to talk about is Abigail. If you meant for me to rot then why did you let her live? Wouldn’t it have made more sense for you to kill her?”

Hannibal looks down at the table, considering his words. “I didn’t kill her because I didn’t wish to do so. Even when I had planned to abandon you to the FBI I wanted to keep her alive for you. A token of sorts, if you will. A physical manifestation of our time spent together.”

Will mulls the words over in his mind. He can understand, in a way. Hannibal must have known he had some degree of feelings for Will and so desired to keep him close by proxy. Apparently Hannibal had underestimated his regard for Will, and rather substantially at that. 

“So where is she?” Will asks. “Something must have happened between the two of you.”

Hannibal sighs quietly. “She remains unconvinced of my goodwill.”

“She’s afraid you’ll kill her, you mean,” Will says, rubbing his face. “She found out, didn’t she?”

Hannibal nods. “She has always had her suspicions, but we spoke after you took her to Minnesota. She became aware of my reality then.”

“Did she run immediately? I find it hard to believe that she could disappear like that on her own.”

Hannibal dons his lemon expression once more. “I aided her in her disappearance, and for a time I kept her here, but she was… unhappy with my lifestyle. Abigail decided to forge her own path.”

Will remains silent, suspicious. Hannibal sighs louder before gazing at Will with the barest hint of a plea in his eyes. “She is still in hiding, but I cannot reach her. Neither can you, for that matter.”

Will stares at him in confusion. “What do you mean? I see why she wants to get away from you, but why from me?”

“It has nothing to do with a desire to keep you away, dear Will, but rather her current hiding place,” Hannibal says. Will leans forward, intensely curious. “To approach her would doom us both.”

Will is almost to afraid to ask, but at length he manages: “Who is she staying with, Hannibal?”

Hannibal’s lips twist in open hostility. “She is staying, dear Will, with Freddie Lounds.”


	8. Chapter 8

Freddie Lounds, former tabloid journalist without a shred of integrity and a constant thorn in the side of the FBI. Or anyone, really, Will thinks. He growls over the memory of some of her more virulent articles. Hannibal continues his silent sneer across the table. For a moment the two men sit lost in their shared loathing. At length Will manages to pull himself from his memories and focuses on Hannibal. 

“How did that happen? It’s not like Freddie to keep something this big under wraps,” he says, troubled. Hannibal sighs again, his loudest this evening. The memories alone are apparently trying his patience. 

“Once Abigail made her decision to flee, she apparently contacted Ms. Lounds, hoping that the threat of an information leak in the event of her death would be enough to keep me away,” Hannibal replies. He sullenly cradles his wine glass in his hand. “I visited her one day while Ms. Lounds was out and asked that she keep her peace on the matter.”

Will raises a brow, unconvinced. “You just… asked her nicely and left it at that?”

Hannibal, caught in his lie, huffs. “While I will admit to being interrupted by Ms. Lounds’ return, I had not planned for much more, being unsure of how much Abigail had divulged. I’m sure she has arranged for everything to be revealed should she disappear.”

“So, to be clear: Abigail fled because she found out about your… eating habits… and now she’s jumped in bed with Freddie because she thinks that you’ll kill her for it.”

“It’s not quite that simple, but that is the gist of it,” Hannibal allows, nodding slowly. “When faced with the choice of either aiding me or hoping for my eventual capture, she chose the latter, despite its unlikeliness. However, now that you’re free, I think she may consider you enough of a buffer between the two of us to come back.”

Will hums in consideration. “Freddie’s got to be planning a big story if she’s kept this under wraps. She’s got an animal cunning and an instinct for blood, but she’s arrogant. She won’t have made electronic copies that we can’t get to.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Hannibal replies. “Ms. Lounds is by far the easier of the two to deal with. It is Abigail that I’m concerned about.”

Though Hannibal’s demeanor is calm when speaking of Abigail, Will feels a surge of protectiveness nonetheless. He knocks back the last of his wine, setting the glass down with a sharp click. “Let’s get one thing straight, Hannibal. If you touch her, I will kill you.”

The threat slides off Hannibal, an easy smile gracing the man’s face. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I had no intention of killing her before she left, and I certainly don’t think that it’s the right course of action now.”

Will doesn’t return the smile, instead fixing Hannibal with a hard stare. “I want your word. Promise me that you won’t hurt her.”

Hannibal’s face goes still and unreadable. He pauses, fingers brushing against the rich wood of his dining table, mulling over his words. “I cannot promise that I won’t act in self defense,” he says at last. “I cannot say that I won’t kill for my freedom, even when it is Abigail.”

Will slouches back in his chair, unsatisfied and unhappy. His lips twist up in a grimace as he reaches up to tug at his hair, thinking deeply. It’s what he expected, but he can’t help but wish for more- an assurance of Abigail’s well being, her safety… And there’s the implication that Hannibal would go so far as to kill Will himself if need be, though that was something Will already knew and, if he was honest with himself, that he had accepted. 

Will decides to drop the subject for now, knowing that their main concern would be separating Freddie and Abigail long enough for a conversation. He was sure that Abigail would trust him enough to leave with him, but the timing was a more delicate matter. Freddie was too clever to leave her nest undefended.

“Fine,” Will grumbles. “We’ll talk about it later. For now, we need to focus on-”

“Will,” Hannibal interrupts, strangely gentle. “My answer will be the same whether you ask me today or in a month. I will not give you the promise you want from me. Remember, I won’t lie to you.”

“Not anymore,” Will snaps, waspish. “You used to, you once spent hours filling my head with lies, misdirecting me-”

“And that is why I won’t lie to you now,” Hannibal interjects. “Your incarceration forced me to realize that I want things from you, and I can’t get them if our relationship is built on falsehoods.”

Will growls, balling his fists on the table. “And I have things that I want, not just from you- I want a family. I had one, too, for a while, before… before. And now I know I can have it again, and you will not get in the way.”

Hannibal regards him coldly. “I was under the impression that I belonged to that family.”

Will, feeling mean, and, in a sudden stroke of inspiration, snarls, “Abigail is one of a kind. I can’t have children, won’t, so she’s it for me, but you- you’re replaceable.”

It’s a lie, and they both know it, but the cruelty behind the words lashes at Hannibal regardless. He sits across from Will with his mask firmly in place, but Will can feel the quiet rage building through it. They stare at one another, the room glacial, for what seems to be an eternity, before Hannibal’s lips slit open just enough for him to speak.

“Perhaps,” he says, quietly, words a hiss of air, “We should discuss this at a later date.”

Will breaks eye contact, his anger temporarily sweeping away his guilt. “Fine,” he says, muscle twitching in his jaw. He shoves away from the table, up and out into the entryway to retrieve his jacket.

Hannibal follows behind, swift and silent. They say nothing as Will struggles into his coat, both refusing to make eye contact. When Will moves to open the door, Hannibal steps behind him, holding it shut with one hand.

“Will,” Hannibal says, frustration evident. Will doesn’t turn around, but some tension leaves his shoulders and he leans his forehead against the door (not wood he’s seen before, probably imported, and expensive like the rest of Hannibal’s home). They stand there breathing together for several minutes, neither one willing to break their sudden peace.

“...I’m still mad, and I probably will be for a while. I know we have to figure things out, but… not tonight,” Will whispers, drained of energy. Hannibal is silent behind him, though his hand drops to his side. “I’ll call you later, ok?”

Without waiting for an answer, Will slips out the door and into his car. As he drives off he can see Hannibal’s silhouette through the window, unmoving. 

Will spends the drive back to Wolf Trap reflecting, turning his mind to Freddie Lounds. He supposes that he’ll just have to wait for an opportunity. Decided, Will is calm by the time his house drifts into view. The dogs, hearing his car, bark in welcome, and Will feels decidedly happier about his situation.

Of course, that is when Freddie Lounds slithers out of the shadows on his porch, shark grin on her face and damning camera clutched in slim fingers, ready to eat him alive for fifteen minutes of fame.


	9. Chapter 9

Will freezes, mind racing furiously as he tries to predict what lurid headlines he could expect tomorrow. While a few seconds of frantic thought assure him that Freddie couldn't have watched him at Hannibal's and then beat him home, her bared teeth put him on edge. Instinct, cultivated and prized by Hannibal, has him plotting out all the hiding places on his property in case this gets ugly. 

Freddie obviously senses his discomfort, though the ease of her grin makes it clear to Will that she doesn't know the dark turn his thoughts have taken of late. She stalks toward him, vicious cunning gleaming in her eyes. 

"So, Mr. Graham, I believe it's high time we had an interview."

Will has a brief internal struggle- if he acquiesces too soon Freddie will get suspicious, but he needs to hear what she has to say. Wary, Will approaches her, knowing that pumping her for information is worth the danger. 

"Freddie," he says, an icy calm enveloping him. He tilts his head, affecting quiet anger, though in truth he can hardly feel anything over his adrenalin rush. "I didn't expect you."

Her smile, impossibly, grows wider, a white gleam of threat wrapped in satisfaction at having caught him off guard. "We have a lot of things to talk about- I hear you've resumed your therapy with Dr. Lecter?"

While Will hadn't made a secret of it (not that that would stop Freddie Lounds, of course), hearing the words out loud make him uneasy. Though he is reluctant to turn his empathy on Freddie, Will searches her gaze for intent, knowing that it could help later on. 

Her eyes are flat, a shark's dead stare. Through it he can see how she means to bait him, let his own words paint him into a corner so that she can spin new meaning into them. It's not about Abigail, he realizes, though it brings little comfort. Freddie is here to pick away at Hannibal's mask, hoping that something will come of the desperate accusations Will made from his prison cell. 

Will is nearly thrown off balance by the protective surge he experiences at the thought. In truth, Will is astonished that no one has seen through Hannibal before him- the art and the medical knowledge and the sheer grandiosity of his personality sometimes make Will want to slap his past self for missing such blatant clues. 

And now, he thinks, Freddie is also about to see. It's not that she genuinely believes that Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper, but she has Hannibal's scent, and Will knows that she will relentlessly dig and dig until she finds something, and Hannibal is, Will realizes, in a frighteningly delicate position at the moment. 

Freddie clears her throat once, bringing Will back to the present. She is smirking now, sensing that she's on to something. Will stiffens, swallowing heavily. 

At last he finds his words. "You're on private property, Freddie. I've kicked you off before."

"And that was when you had the might of the FBI behind you," she retorts, seeing the empty threat for what it was. She glances down at her camera before coyly gazing at his face. "But you're running with a different crowd this time around, aren't you?"

"...I don't exactly have much choice in company, these days," Will mumbles, avoiding her gaze. 

Freddie pretends to be surprised. "Your only choice is the man you claimed is the Chesapeake Ripper? You need better friends, Graham."

She leans closer and Will has to fight not to recoil. "I can help you with that."

Will stares at her in confusion. Though he'd expected to be harassed about his imprisonment, as Freddie couldn't resist the idea of exclusive coverage, Will knows that she can uncover enough on her own to not need to play nicely with him. The confirmation that she has bigger plans chills him. 

"Get to the point, Freddie," he snaps, unsettled. Will wishes now more than ever that he hadn't fought with Hannibal, that the two of them were still ensconced in his luxurious Baltimore retreat, far away from Freddie's prying questions. "I don't have all night."

"Hmm, neither do I," Freddie says, brushing imaginary dirt from her coat. She searches for his gaze again, triumph lighting her eyes. "I have to get home to someone soon."

Will stills, watching Freddie with breathless anticipation. He knows that she'd never give up information for free, so what she says next will tip him off to her plans (and possibly give him the inspiration he needs for his own, he thinks). Freddie doesn't notice his sudden interest, immersed in her grandstanding. 

"I have a feeling that you'd like to join me," she says casually. "It's a mutual acquaintance of ours."

Freddie brushes past him, stopping at the passenger side of his car. "Care to join me?"

Though Freddie can't know how tantalizing her offer truly is, Will can hardly restrain his aching joy. He knows that Freddie will more than likely use this opportunity to blackmail him, but the thought of seeing Abigail again makes Will's heart sing, and so, with no small amount of trepidation, Will slides back into his car, unlocking the passenger door for Freddie, and then drives off into the night.


	10. Chapter 10

After half an hour of silence Freddie speaks. “My car is three miles down the road from here.”

Will glances over at her. “I’m not leaving my car behind,” he says, shuddering at the thought of being trapped in Freddie’s home. He can see the reflection of her smirk in the passenger window.

“You can drop me off at my car and follow me.”

Sighing, Will nods. Freddie’s directions are curt but accurate, and soon they pull up alongside her car. Once she settles behind the wheel Freddie takes off without checking to see if Will follows. Her confidence in Will’s obedience is nerve-wracking, and it’s only his fervent desire to see Abigail that keeps him from whipping the car around. 

Freddie leads him deep into Baltimore and into a dingy neighborhood. It isn’t overly suspicious, but it has a gloomy air that suits her well. They park in a private lot next to a series of duplexes and Freddie oozes out toward the building at the end of the row. Will takes a moment to steel himself, his excitement warring with unease. 

The two approach the bottom unit and Freddie unlocks the door without a word. She takes a moment to simper at him before disappearing inside. Though it’s not a large entryway, it feels cavernous, a dark, gaping maw poised to consume. Will isn’t sure if Freddie refrains from turning on the lights in an effort to unnerve him or if she wants this to be as dramatic as possible, but either way he feels as though the three steps into her home make up a much greater descent.

Will closes the door as he enters in a feeble attempt to assert some measure of control over his environment. He hears Freddie’s heels clacking before a lamp clicks on, throwing a small but tidy living room into sharp relief. Freddie swirls off her coat before draping it gently over a battered armchair. She turns to him and smiles coyly, gesturing him toward what must be the kitchen door. A sliver of fluorescent light sneaks out from the door frame’s cracks, beckoning him in. 

Will opens the door, heart jumping to his throat when he sees the figure at the table. Eyes growing wet, he stands frozen for what seems to be an eternity before he manages a whisper. 

“Abigail,” he croaks.

She whips around, shock in her eyes, already tearing up. Despite the obvious rush of emotion, Abigail stays seated, a glimmer of fear entering her gaze. 

"Did he send you?" she whispers, clutching at the chair's back. Abigail's whole body is tense, prepared for flight, and Will is momentarily swept away by the strength of his sadness- she and Hannibal had been so close before the false murder and imprisonment, yet she wilts at the very thought of him. 

"No, I came on my own. I had to see you," he says, softly, gently, a quiet reassurance towards a frightened soul. He takes a measured step forward, trying to control his relieved smile when she relaxes slightly. "Abigail, I- I've missed you so much."

Will is choking on his emotions, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth in a futile attempt to control himself. Abigail looks no better, and after a brief moment she launches herself out of the chair and into his arms. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she cries, voice thick. Abigail presses her face to Will's chest and the resulting tears swiftly dampen his shirt. "God, I never wanted any of this, I was just so scared-"

Her voice breaks and Will's heart melts even further. He strokes her hair, making soothing noises as she begins to cry in earnest. For a long moment it feels as though Abigail will never stop, but eventually the sobs grow quieter and come less often, and soon the two are pulling apart to look at one another properly. 

Will brushes a stray hair out of Abigail's face and the two smile at each other, valiantly attempting to stifle their sniffles, finally having calmed down enough to speak to one another. This is, of course, the moment that Freddie stalks into the kitchen.

The fluorescent lighting does nothing for her poisonous grin, and Will struggles briefly with the impulse to shove her away from Abigail. 

Freddie abandons her smile for a moment, dark gaze sweeping over them, and Will can see her calculating her angle of attack. With a flicker of horror he realizes that she can sense that he already knew about Abigail, and, knowing Freddie, it won't be long until she connects the dots- although how correct she'll be depends on what Abigail has told her. Which, Will thinks, he still has to talk to Abigail about, though he's not sure how to get her away from Freddie. 

"I see you liked my guest," Freddie drawls, sliding into one of the chairs. She sprawls out carelessly, the very picture of effortless grace, even more secure in her own territory. She smiles hungrily. "I'm sure you two have lots to catch up on. Don't mine me."

The attempt to listen in on what is surely to be a damning conversation is too transparent for Freddie. Will suspects that she's instead looking for secretive behavior to see how many dirty secrets he could be hiding. He eyes her coolly over Abigail's head, considering possible plans. 

To his surprise, Abigail effortlessly takes the lead. "It's been so long since I last saw you. I know you were so ill," she says, lip wobbling dramatically. "How much do you remember from before your arrest? Freddie says you're practically a recluse these days."

Will blinks down at her before cottoning on. "It's all a blur, honestly. I remember talking with you at the cabin, then you being gone. I was so worried."

The two clutch at each other's arms for a moment while Freddie drinks it in. 

"Jack Crawford kept asking questions, making the worst accusations," Abigail whispers, lashes fluttering. "I didn't know what to do- when you brought me to the cabin I thought it was to force a confession from me."

She widens her eyes slightly, trusting his empathy to pick up her meaning. Ah, Will thinks, she hasn't told Freddie anything about Hannibal, instead choosing to run with half the truth- Freddie, with her nose for blood, had obviously figured out that Abigail could be implicated in her father's murders, so Abigail told her what she expected to hear- a cowed girl forced to follow her father's depraved actions, fearing unjust retribution from those who had promised to protect her, choosing to flee the uncompromising reach of the law. A fine story for Freddie, one that she could twist even further to induce shock. 

Clever, and far more than he'd hoped for. What with Hannibal perilously arrogant, taunting the FBI mercilessly, Will didn't need to deal with any threats from Freddie, and Abigail's deception had obviously worked this far. 

Freddie's gaze rakes over them, viciously hungry, and she appears to be holding her breath, although- Will isn't sure if his unease is due to his past experiences with her or if his empathy is picking up something else. Either way, his skin crawls and he shifts in place, trying not to squirm outright. 

"I couldn't do that to you, Abigail. I've only wanted what was best for you." Will pauses, trying to remember if Freddie knew that he had discovered that Abigail had been aiding her father. "I only wanted to put the matter to rest, to prove your innocence."

Freddie leans back in her chair, apparently satisfied. Abigail smiles tremulously, squeezing his arm slightly before ducking her head. 

"I'm sorry, I just- this is so much. I have to go," she says, ducking toward the kitchen door. "I-I'll be back."

They watch her leave, Freddie making no attempt to hide her smirk, and Will can hear another door close and soon the tinkle of a running faucet starts up. 

"So," she says, turning to face him. "What a nice surprise."

There's a smug sarcasm with to her words and Will swallows, steeling himself. "I suppose you want me to thank you."

Freddie clacks her nails on the table, a steady drum that grates on Will's nerves. "Mm, you do seem to owe me one," she drawls. "I'm thinking an interview, something big, about the Minnesota Shrike's daughter and her brave hero."

The last two words are mocking, an attempt to bait him, but Will is more concerned with how she'll call him out for knowing Abigail is alive. Right as Freddie leans in to say something, a toilet's faint flush can be heard and Abigail marches back in. 

"Thanks for giving me a few minutes," she says, gliding up to Will. Her eyes appear brighter and she takes his hand, going in for another hug. Will can feel a slip of paper crinkle underneath his watch's wristband.

After they break apart, Will takes a moment to look into Abigail's eyes. She returns his gaze and he sees a quiet confidence. Will blinks at her, a silent understanding passing between them unnoticed by Freddie. 

He steps back, smiling at Abigail once more. "I... Really should be going."

Freddie looks surprised, disappointment following quickly, but she recovers easily enough and narrows her eyes at him. However, she obviously hadn't expected him to stay for much longer, so his escape doesn't set off any alarms, and the two women escort him to the front door. 

As he shrugs on his coat, Abigail moves to hide behind a corner so that no one will see her from the front door. They share another smile and she waves at him before Freddie opens the door. 

"I expect we'll be in touch, Mr. Graham," Freddie says, teeth gleaming in the dim light. "Have a nice drive."

The door closes behind him with a thunk and Will tried not to feel as though he's left Abigail in the lion's den as he sets off toward his car. He starts it up and after driving several miles down the road he pulls off to the side and slides the paper out from underneath his watch. 

Will smiles down at the phone number, pride curling in his chest at Abigail's resourcefulness. It's not a number he recognizes, but the knowledge that it connects him to Abigail placates any misgivings about the number. 

With one battle down and his reunion with Abigail gone as smoothly as possible under the circumstances, Will drives home with a light heart, confident in his ability to tackle whatever will come next.


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning finds Will staring down at his phone like it will bite him. Though Abigail had given him the number, implying that it was safe to call her, he doesn't want to alert Freddie, and he's not sure when Abigail will be alone. He decides to give it a few hours, as Freddie will surely be off hunting by then. 

The dogs snuffle at his feet and he's soon wrapped up in caring for them, and, as always, the pack distracts him from his troubles for several hours, and when he next checks his watch it's past noon. 

Will approaches his cell phone, nervous and excited all at once- though seeing Abigail last night had confirmed that she was alive, there had been a dreamlike quality to their reunion, and the upcoming call will reassure him. 

There aren't any new messages, which is expected but slightly disappointing. Will hasn't forgotten that he and Hannibal need to talk. Pushing the matter out of his mind, Will dials the number Abigail gave him and waits breathlessly as it rings. 

And it rings, and rings, and finally it rings out to a preset voicemail message that does nothing but beep uselessly at him. 

Will has gained enough composure since his release that he doesn't immediately panic, but it's a near thing. He waits a few minutes, hoping that Abigail was just away from the phone or possibly around Freddie. The second time he calls it rings five times before going to voicemail- whoever was on the other side of the line had denied the call. 

Will stands frozen with his phone at his ear for almost a minute before he collects himself and slowly lowers his hand, an icy calm spreading. 

Freddie had triggered unease in him all night, but when Abigail had spoken about fleeing Jack he'd been particularly worried that she would see the deception for what it was. Will had thought that they'd evaded her, but this silence is deeply troubling. 

He analyzes various courses of actions before unlocking his phone again and dialing Hannibal, who answers on the first ring. 

"Will," he says, sounding pleasantly surprised. "I hadn't expected you to call so soon. I have an appointment in a half hour, unfortunately, so I-"

"It's Abigail," Will interrupts. "I saw her last night. Freddie came to my house and invited me over."

Hannibal is silent for a brief moment. "Ah. How was she?"

Will ignores the implied request for information- he can tell Hannibal everything later. "Fine. Or she was, last night. But she gave me a phone number and I've called it twice and she hasn't picked up- but someone has the phone and shut it off. I think Freddie is on to us- uh, me."

Hannibal mulls this over quietly. "It's only been a day, Will."

"I know," Will sighs. "But I should have had plenty of time to talk to Abigail today and she hasn't answered."

"I suppose it's too much of a coincidence," Hannibal agrees at length. "Do you have a plan?"

"Call Freddie and tell her I want to see Abigail again. It would be natural for me to want to meet again this soon, so there's no reason for her to refuse unless she knows something."

Hannibal makes a murmur of agreement, though it's distant and he's clearly lost in thought. "It's as sound as any other plan at the moment. If she refuses I think it would be best if I were to call on Abigail. There would be less suspicion if I were seen."

"If you hurt her..." Will mutters dangerously. "I think we should talk this over in person, just to get everything sorted."

"I wouldn't do anything drastic," Hannibal says reproachfully. "Although I do want to meet- will you have dinner with me tonight?"

"Third time's the charm, is that it?" Will snorts. "Alright. I'll be over at seven."

They exchange brief goodbyes and Will hangs up. He sighs, reaching down to pet Winston and staring at his phone. The dog rubs up against his palm and Will kneels on the floor to give better scratches, abandoning his phone. The rest of the pack floods around him and he ends up with three dogs trying to squirm onto his lap at once.

Will glances once more at his phone before diverting his attention to the dogs. There will come a time for action, he thinks, but not now. Resolved to wait, he settles in to play with the dogs, gathering his patience and his cunning for whatever is to come.


	12. Chapter 12

Will makes the drive in silence, wondering vaguely what would prevent him from actually eating at Hannibal's house this time. As usual, Hannibal is at the door waiting for him, opening the door before he even gets out of his car. 

The two meet each other's eyes, testing the waters to see if last night's animosity remains. Will offers a tentative smile and Hannibal immediately returns it. 

When Will enters the house he notices the smell- or, rather, the lack thereof. Hannibal's dinners take hours of preparation and the mouthwatering scents inevitably permeated every room of the house. However, tonight Will couldn't smell anything at all.

Hannibal leads Will to the study, settling him on the couch with a glass of whiskey. He sits next to Will with some wine for himself, though he doesn't drink, choosing instead to watch Will sip for almost a full minute. 

Will fidgets under the attention, feeling awkward. Silence between them isn't unusual, but Hannibal doesn't usually stare this long. 

The moment Will lowers his glass Hannibal sets his wine on the side table and turns to cup Will's face with both hands.

"Er," Will says, unsure of what to do when Hannibal remains still. They stare at one another for several seconds, Hannibal's lips quirking up in a faint smile, and then he leans in to press his lips against Will's cheek, kissing slowly inwards toward his mouth. 

Will's mind goes blank and he opens his mouth, shivering slightly. 

Several minutes later Hannibal leans back, a glimmer of pleasure in his eyes. Will stares at him, and after a few seconds with no response the satisfaction disappears. 

"Will," Hannibal says. He's far too self assured for it to be a question, but this is as close to uncertainty as Will has ever seen him.

"That wasn't dinner," Will says at last, blinking stupidly. His brain is still offline, thinking dulled by the (excellent and long, long overdue) kiss. Hannibal continues to watch him, waiting for more of a response. 

Dazed, Will turns to pick up his whiskey and downs the remainder of it before swiveling towards Hannibal. 

"I wasn't hungry anyway," he decides. Hannibal looks smug now, though Will's empathy picks up the tiniest shred of relief. It's gone almost too quickly to take note of, Hannibal as adaptable as ever, but being able to cause any amount of distress to the otherwise levelheaded psychiatrist is a bizarre notion to Will. His musing is interrupted when Hannibal gently grasps his hand, drawing it up to kiss the inside of his wrist. 

And to think that only days ago I had considered Hannibal to be a mortal enemy, Will thinks. The sudden switch from fury to adoration lends credence to the theory that love and hate are simply two sides of the same coin- both are a form of passion, he supposes, and they had been very close before his incarceration. Will watches through half lidded eyes as Hannibal works his way across his fingers, lips brushing reverently across calloused skin. 

When Hannibal pauses to smile up at him, Will decides not to care about the abrupt mental shift. Alana and Jack will care, and they'll need to deal with that in the future, but in this moment Will can't bring himself to care. 

His world, which he had thought destroyed by Hannibal's apparent betrayal, has reworked itself to revolve around his tiny family, and Will is content to let the evolution be. Though Hannibal came first, it was their feelings of obligation toward Abigail that led Will to develop a bond with him, which means, unfortunately, that the tender evening must be postponed in favor of a discussion regarding her safety. 

"Hannibal..." Will sighs, extracting his hand. "As much as I want this, we need to focus on the task at hand."

"I had feared that you would say that," Hannibal says. He doesn't seem overly disappointed, apparently having expected their evening to revolve around business rather than pleasure. 

He shifts closer to Will, their thighs brushing in a very deliberate movement. Though he had acquiesced, Hannibal apparently has no intentions of making it easy on Will. His hand creeps onto Will's knee, where it is ignored only with effort. 

"Yes, well," Will mumbles, distracted. The gentle pressure remains steady, save for Hannibal's thumb, which moves in slow circles over the inside of his thigh. "Um. Abigail."

"Abigail," Hannibal replies, pretending innocence. Will is torn between scowling and moving the hand further up. He settles for maintaining his composure, though Hannibal obviously sees through the facade. 

"She didn't answer the phone, and she- or someone else- cut off the call when I tried again."

"She could have been with Freddie at the time," Hannibal says. "It could be nothing."

"Yes, but we can't afford the cost if it does turn out to be something after all," Will replies. Hannibal nods in agreement, remaining silent as he thinks. 

At last, he speaks. "You should call Abigail again, tonight, and if she answers then we may base our plans on that. But should we be unable to reach her I feel it would be best if I were to visit her, as I said earlier."

Will, protective as always, opens his mouth to argue, but Hannibal raises his other hand to stop him. "I won't harm her, Will. You have my word."

Will regards him with suspicion. Hannibal is a practiced liar, and his willingness to sacrifice others for his own safety has Will reluctant to agree. 

"And like I said earlier, I could always tell Freddie that I want to see Abigail again. I could even go myself if we don't want to involve Freddie again."

"If you're seen then Freddie will know that something is going on, and she'll investigate us," Hannibal says reproachfully. 

"You were careless enough to frighten Abigail off in the first place," Will replies, trying to tamp down his irritation. He draws in a deep breath. "Just- never mind. Let's call first and hope for the best. We can figure it out afterward if we need to."

Hannibal still looks as though he wants to argue, but he doesn't speak as Will reaches into his pocket for the phone. He turns on the speakerphone and they both watch the screen in silence as it rings. 

Will holds his breath as the phone reaches the fourth ring. The call finally connects, Abigail's voice coming through. 

"Will?" She asks, the sound muffled. "Where are you?"

"I'm at Hannibal's," he replies, relief flooding through him. "Are you ok? You had me worried when you didn't pick up my call."

"Sorry. But about that..."

Will can see Hannibal cock his head at that, curiosity evident. "What is it?"

"Freddie. She knew something was up. She didn't leave me alone all day, so there was no way I could answer your call-"

"Abigail," Will says, soothing, as she begins to babble. "Calm down, just- what happened?"

"She heard my phone, Will. It was on vibrate but she could hear it buzzing and I got it without telling her and she started asking questions and I didn't know what to say. I just panicked," Abigail replies, strained. 

At last Hannibal speaks. "What did you do?"

Will frowns at him before returning his attention to the phone. 

"Oh- Hannibal, I'm at Will's house. I have Freddie."

"Have her how?" Will asks, unease sweeping over him. Hannibal says nothing, having gone still. 

Abigail is silent for a moment. "She's in the trunk. No one saw me, but I don't know what to do with her now."

Will groans quietly, grinding his palm against his eye. "You're sure? What car did you take?"

"It's hers," Abigail replies. "I know that makes it easier to track, but it was all I had."

"Ok," Will says. "Ok. Shit. Just- just sit tight. We'll be there as soon as possible. Don't let her out of the trunk. The spare key is hidden under the left windowsill. I want you to hide in the house, but do it from somewhere you can watch the car, ok?"

Abigail, still audibly shaken, murmurs her assent, and the two trade goodbyes before hanging up. Will groans again, burying his face in both hands for a moment. 

"Shit," he says. Hannibal wears a look of grim determination. The two make no move to leave for a second, Hannibal allowing Will to collect himself for a moment. 

"This was bound to happen eventually, Will," Hannibal says, standing. 

"Yeah, but this could be messy. Too many loose ends for my comfort," he replies, moving after Hannibal. The two make their way to the entryway. 

"Wait here," Hannibal commands. He disappears down the hall and Will can hear the creak of a door opening. A minute later Hannibal reappears with a bulky leather travel bag. Will eyes it curiously, but Hannibal offers no explanation, so he shrugs it off and they exit the house. 

"Should we take my car or go separately?" Will asks. 

"It will attract less attention if my vehicle remains here," Hannibal replies. Will unlocks his car and Hannibal loads the bag into the trunk. As Will opens his car door, still unnerved at the suddenness of it all, Hannibal catches his hand. 

"Will," he murmurs. "It will be alright."

Will offers him a shaky smile and the two set off to Wolf Trap, preparing themselves to deal with Freddie in whatever manner necessary.


	13. Chapter 13

Will breaks the speed limit as soon as they leave Baltimore. He manages to shave a half hour off of the trip, though he is mindful of the treacherous backroads that lead to his secluded home. As soon as they pull up Abigail is stepping out the front door and onto the porch, where she hovers anxiously.

Will immediately gets out and hugs her while Hannibal eyes Freddie’s trunk, then exiting the car with his bag. 

“You’re ok? No close calls on the way here?” he asks once they’ve parted. Abigail manages a smile, though she’s still nervous.

“I couldn’t exactly watch the news for a report since you live in the sticks,” she jokes, though they’re both too keyed up for it to alleviate their tension. “I’m fine, Will. Thanks for getting here so quickly.”

Hannibal, clearly having lost interest in watching them speak, moves to open Freddie’s trunk. Will opens his mouth to protest, but he’s too late and the door swings up, revealing Freddie, whose feet and hands are bound with duct tape. A strip of tape covers her mouth, which, given the snarling that arises from her, is probably a blessing. Hannibal lifts Freddie out of the trunk, easily hefting her over his shoulder despite the struggling. 

“The kitchen will be easier to clean than your barn, Will. Do you have any rope?” he asks, all calm professionalism. Will shakes his head, though Hannibal doesn’t seem concerned. “I’ll see you inside.”

Abigail and Will watch him go inside before turning back to one another. “I want you to wait in my car, Abigail. You shouldn’t see this.”

She looks at him, eyes huge in the darkness. “...What exactly is ‘this?’” 

“I’m not sure yet,” Will replies, biting his lip. “All I know is that you’ve had more than your fair share of blood. Stay out here, and stay away. You can wait in my car.”

She nods, taking the offered keys, and Will enters the house. The dogs are subdued, huddling around his feet until he shoos them into a corner of the living room. Will pauses to take a deep breath before stepping into the kitchen, where Hannibal has tied Freddie to one of his chairs with a thin cord. Will wonders briefly where it came from before he notices Hannibal’s open bag. A murder go-bag, he thinks, stifling a nervous chuckle. 

Freddie is, mercifully, still gagged, though now she seems too frightened to make noise. Her eyes, furious and terrified, burn into Will, and he can see the plea in her eyes. Will looks away, feeling ill- for all that he hated Freddie, and rightfully so, nothing about this scenario sits well with him. He turns instead to Hannibal, who merely regards him quietly.

With a jolt, Will realizes that Hannibal intends for him to deal with Freddie. He chides himself for his surprise- though neither of them were particularly pleased with how this came about, Hannibal was always going to want Will to commit a murder (the first of many, his mind whispers, poisonously sweet). What better opportunity than the woman who stands to bring them down?

On a whim, Will reaches over and rips off the tape covering Freddie’s mouth. He ignores Hannibal’s raised eyebrow, focusing instead on the woman glaring up at him. Her eyes dart once to Hannibal before she speaks.

“So, you spend months begging people to listen when you say you’re not a murderer, and yet here we are,” she says. “Me tied to a chair and you ready to follow the orders of the man you claim is the Chesapeake Ripper.”

If nothing else, Will muses, Freddie Lounds is brave even when staring death in the face. He meets her gaze again, maintaining eye contact as he speaks to Hannibal. “What should we do with the car?”

“I know of several areas in Baltimore where we can leave it.” Hannibal pulls out a set of Ohio license plates from the murder bag. “I’ll attach these first.”

“You should do it now,” Will murmurs. “It will take time to get to Baltimore and I don’t want to risk you getting caught in daylight.”

“I’ll need you to follow me in your car for this,” Hannibal reminds him. Will bites his lip, thinking hard. Though he had told Abigail to wait in the car, outside and far enough away for plausible deniability, he suddenly realizes that he doesn’t want her anywhere near- her father’s kills are too much blood already, and he finds that he wants to protect her from this.

“Have Abigail take my car,” Will decides, turning towards Hannibal once more. “You can drop her off at your house and then go clean out Freddie’s place. I’ll tell you once I’ve… when I’m done here.”

Hannibal looks put out, and Will realizes that Hannibal wanted to watch. He tries not laugh as he imagines Hannibal taking photos of this moment and writing “Our first date” in the margins of a scrapbook. Dark humor leeching out of him, Will sighs. “Look, we have to move quickly. You know Baltimore better than I do and we don’t have time for your usual… artistry.”

“Very well,” Hannibal replies, still disappointed. “Call me when you’ve finished and I can pick you up.”

The murder bag, sans cord, is zipped up, and within seconds Hannibal is ready to go. He doesn’t leave immediately, choosing instead to draw closer to Will. The two look at one another for a moment before Hannibal moves even closer, their fronts pressed together. Hannibal’s free hand traces up along Will’s wrist before coming to rest over his heart. “Call me soon.”

Then he is up and out of the house before Will can blink, breath caught in his throat. Will’s dazed state only lasts for a second and he turns to face Freddie, who is staring at him bug-eyed. 

“I always knew you were good with killers, Graham, but this is…” Freddie trails off, gazing at him with a bizarre mixture of horror and eagerness. The journalist in her shines through even in her last moments. She seems to realize that this isn’t earning her any points with Will, though nothing she might say will change her fate. Will looks over his counters, eyes moving to his knife block. Freddie follows his gaze and swallows audibly.

“Look, I know you think you have to do this, but- no, listen! Lecter’s got his claws so far in you that you think he’s your only option in life, that if you try to break free of him you’ll tear yourself apart in the process. But Will,” she says, desperately, though no less firm in her belief for it, “You can pick up the pieces. There’s a reason now- walk away from this for her.”

Will freezes. He turns, slowly, to face Freddie, who looks grimly triumphant. “You think it’s too late for you, and hell, I’m no shrink. I don’t know if you’ll ever be normal again, assuming you ever were.”

Will rolls his eyes at the jab. Even scared out of her mind and begging for her life (in her own way), Freddie is as caustic as ever. She leans forward as much as the cord will let her.

“Sue me for being honest. Look, I don’t know if you can survive him, emotionally, mentally, whatever, but you should at least try so you don’t drag Abigail down with you. You haven’t spent any time with her since her ‘death,’ and you don’t know how she’s changed. I’ve lived with her, for fuck’s sake, and Graham, that girl has a future. She’s scared shitless of Lecter, but she’s got the will to live beyond him. Don’t ruin that just because you don’t.”

Speech finished, Freddie leans back, the last vestiges of adrenaline draining out and leaving her exhausted. Will regards her in quiet contemplation. She may not walk away from this, but Will can already tell that her words will stick with him. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, and heads for the knives without replying, a dread silence filling the kitchen. 

Will runs his hands over the knife handles, fingertips grazing nicks and oil stains and all the evidence of use, achingly slow and uncertain, when, at long last, he chooses a handle and pulls.


	14. Chapter 14

There is blood under Will’s fingernails. He stares at it uncomprehendingly, shivering in the darkness of his porch, dogs pressed close. Will had tried to shoo them away, at first, not wanting the blood to get on them, but his loyal companions were insistent, and so here they are. When he had called Hannibal, they’d discussed the logistics of the cleanup, tersely, quietly, and had come to the conclusion that it was best if Hannibal were to oversee it. 

Freddie’s body is still tied to the chair in his kitchen, blood pooling on the tiles. It had been quick- for all his determination to get the job done, and his own feelings toward her, Will feels that he owed her that much, a last favor to the woman who protected Abigail (for her own gain, yes, and certainly not well, but at least Abigail is alive, which she may not have been had she not taken shelter with Freddie- but that’s a dangerous path to take at the moment, when his hands keep shaking and Hobbes is lurking at the edges of his vision).

Will sits on his front step for nearly two hours before he hears the purr of an engine. He doesn’t look up at the crunching footsteps, but Hannibal extends a hand to tilt his face up and soon they’re staring at one another in silence. They say nothing for a long moment, the only noise coming from the dogs, but Hannibal’s eyes soften fractionally and he glides into the house. 

A moment later a blanket drops around Will’s shoulders, though when he turns to thank Hannibal the door is already swinging shut. He can hear Hannibal moving around inside, presumably beginning to clean. 

He doesn’t come back outside for another three hours, when the sun begins to peek over the horizon, but at long last Hannibal steps outside and lowers himself to the front step, pressing up against Will.

“Is it finished?” Will asks, softly, clutching at the blanket. Hannibal nods, taking Will’s hand in his own.

“The only thing left to do is dispose of the corpse. I, for one, do not find the idea of consuming Ms. Lounds appealing. It will be a simple task.”

Will lets out a deep sigh before resting his head on Hannibal’s shoulder. He is weary to the core, the cold having sapped any leftover adrenalin. “Good. I guess I was more worried about this than I realized.”

The two spend another few minutes watching the sun rise, soaking in one another’s company. Will feels absurdly grateful for Hannibal’s presence, though he knows that he could have killed Freddie without aid. He huffs quietly to himself, burrowing deeper into the blanket.

“So,” he says, looking up at Hannibal. “What now? You’ve taken care of Freddie’s apartment, we can get rid of her body later, and the evidence is all gone... “

Hannibal hesitates. “I suppose the next logical step is dealing with Jack Crawford, if you wish.”

Will pulls away to stare at him. “He suspects Abigail. We’ve got to do something about that.”

Hannibal, apparently having decided that discretion is the better part of valor, stays silent. However, a telltale muscle twitches in his jaw under Will’s penetrating gaze- so small as to nearly be imperceptible, and certainly not something anyone else would pick up, but Will is not just anyone. 

Will tries not to snap at Hannibal, but it’s a near thing, the stress of the night trying his patience. “Look, you know Jack. He doesn’t give up. He’s relentless, and he’ll keep hunting her until he finds her or someone ends up dead, and I don’t want either of those things to happen.”

“Will,” Hannibal says. “Given your feelings on the matter, there are only so many options we have. If we were all to flee, then perhaps things would work out, but otherwise…”

“We could,” Will realizes. “We could run away. Get false identities and settle down somewhere in Europe.”

Hannibal shifts. “I have certain safeguards in place that we could use to do so. However, at the moment, it would be too suspicious to leave, given your history with Ms. Lounds and Abigail.”

“I guess,” Will replies, subdued. “I just… I want us to be a family, a real one. We can’t do that with Abigail in hiding. It’s not fair to her, and it’s not what I want.”

Hannibal smiles softly, surprising Will. “You seem to have little interest in what others want, dear Will.”

Will stares at him. Hannibal is one of the few to possess the ability to surprise him, though at this point Will figures that he should be used to it. Hannibal doesn’t seem to mind the idea, though Will is reminded of Freddie’s last words, and his stomach jumps unpleasantly. 

“Shit,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “Look, it’s been a long day. Can we just go home?”

Hannibal’s smile grows at the phrasing. “I think, Will, that that is an excellent idea.”

He stands, turning to offer Will a hand, ever the gentleman, and the two herd the dogs into the house before driving off to Baltimore, the weak morning light staining their path red.


	15. Chapter 15

Abigail is asleep in one of Hannibal’s guest rooms by the time they arrive. Will peeks in the door, smiling when he sees her dark hair splayed on the pillow, before soundlessly closing it. He still has the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and when he looks down at where his hands clutch at the fabric he realizes that they’ll have to clean it- there are faint smudges of Freddie’s blood, passed from his hands, which are still dirty.

Hannibal leads him down the hall and into what is obviously the master bedroom. It’s as dark and grand as the rest of the house, though Will only has a moment to look around before they walk into the ensuite. Hannibal settles Will on the edge of the tub before wetting a towel and handing it to him. For several minutes he watches Will wipe away the blood, only moving to get a fresh towel when the first develops a thick layer of grime. 

It’s strange, Will thinks, that Hannibal is content to watch. He would have guessed that Hannibal would prefer a hands-on approach, wanting to press their hands together with blood between their fingers, a tangible reminder of their shared path, but then… Hannibal had been content to watch him run, before his incarceration, stepping in only when necessary. Like a child with an ant farm.

Will’s musing is interrupted when Hannibal slips the towel out of his grasp. 

“That’s the best towels can do. If you’d like you may take a shower. Otherwise, we should head to bed,” Hannibal says, watching him fondly.

Will gives himself a cursory once-over before he replies. “There’s still some… I don’t want to stain the sheets.”

“Shower it is, then. Let me fetch you some fresh towels.”

Hannibal pads out of the bedroom, leaving Will staring after him. After a few seconds he decides to attempt the shower’s multitude of knobs- it’s a fancy steam shower with half a dozen jets in the walls and two rain showerheads. Will’s own shower is builder grade from the eighties, so it takes him a moment to figure out how to get the hot water going, but once it’s on he wriggles out of his bloody clothing and steps into the spray with a sigh.

He doesn’t hear Hannibal enter over the shower’s hiss, nor does he see Hannibal’s appreciative gaze meander over his body. When Will turns around to wash his back the only evidence of Hannibal’s presence is a pair of soft white towels resting on the counter. There’s a pair of (tailored, expensive) sweatpants waiting for him next to them.

Though the idea of standing under the hot water until he falls asleep is tempting, Will cuts his shower short, getting out as soon as the water no longer runs red. The towels are gloriously soft and Will takes his time drying off, enjoying the scent of Hannibal’s soap. After tugging the sweatpants on he wanders into the bedroom, where Hannibal is sitting on the far side of the bed. Both sides of the comforter are turned down, a clear invitation to join Hannibal, who has changed into-

“Silk pajamas,” Will mutters in disbelief. Hannibal doesn’t sniff at him, but that’s only due to his great restraint.

“The closer to your body, the finer the object should be,” he says, folding his hands primly into his lap. “That being said, I chose something a little more familiar for you tonight.”

“Thanks,” Will replies. He hesitates at the side of the bed. Will hasn’t shared a bed for a whole night since college, and he’s long forgotten what little he knew about this sort of thing. Hannibal extends a hand, patting the mattress at his side, so Will slides under the covers, movements stilted and awkward.

Hannibal turns off the lamp on his side table, plunging the room into darkness. Will realizes vaguely that Hannibal must have splurged on blackout blinds, as there isn’t a pinprick of light. He isn’t sure if that makes this more or less awkward, but he reaches out anyway until his hand meets warm silk, fingers questing for Hannibal’s.

Clearly recognizing what Will is after, Hannibal shifts minutely, sheets rustling as he takes Will’s hand in his own. They stay like that for nearly an hour, the room quiet save for their exhalations. Eventually, Will begins to drift off, and he soon falls into a deep sleep, guided out of his nightmares by the warmth of Hannibal’s hand.

\---

Will jolts awake, unpleasantly warm. Groggy from lack of sleep, it takes him a moment to realize that he isn’t feverish from dreams. A moment more and Will becomes aware of the heat source- Hannibal is tightly wrapped around him. Will has to fight to poke his head out from the cage of Hannibal’s arm to check the clock, groaning when he realizes he’s only slept for two hours. Another wave of heat passes over him and Will shuffles uncomfortably in Hannibal’s grasp, attempting to extricate himself in vain. 

Hannibal remains deeply, unfairly asleep, though he does grunt softly and tighten his hold at Will’s latest round of struggling. Will flops his head down onto the pillow, sighing, before he squirms a hand up to his chin.

“Hannibal,” he murmurs, poking the man softly. “Let go, I’m boiling.”

Another quiet snuffle (which Will would find adorable if he wasn’t overheated) and Hannibal opens his eyes, blearily peering at him. “Mm. What..?”

“You’re too hot,” Will complains, pressing his palm to Hannibal’s chest. Now that Hannibal is awake and sharing in his sleep deprived misery, his eagerness to get away abates, and he brings his other hand up to rest on Hannibal’s hip.

“My apologies,” Hannibal says, shifting slightly. He rolls out of Will’s grasp to check the clock, sighing at the early hour. “Are you going to fall asleep again, or should I make breakfast?”

Will rubs his eyes. “We’ve still got to take care of Freddie’s body, so… Where did you put it, anyway? You didn’t take anything with you last night.”

Hannibal nods and slips out from under the covers. “Ms. Lounds is hidden in your freezer in manageable pieces. I have a few places in mind for her, but coffee first.”

Will snorts. Hannibal doesn’t seem groggy, but his distaste for early mornings is amusingly obvious. Will watches him retrieve a robe from the closet (also silk, and finer than all of Will’s wardrobe put together). Hannibal pads out of the room noiselessly, leaving Will to find the strength of will to leave the soft mattress.

He drags himself out of bed a few moments later, glancing at Abigail’s door on the way down the stairs. It’s still closed, Abigail presumably still asleep, and Will decides not to look in and risk waking her. By the time Will reaches the kitchen he smells coffee brewing, and he stares as Hannibal manipulates an espresso machine more complicated than his laptop. 

When the last few drops of espresso have finished dripping into the waiting cup Hannibal passes it to Will, who murmurs his thanks and leans against the countertop to watch Hannibal make the second coffee. Will sips from his cup idly, marveling at how domestic it all is. 

Several minutes pass in silence before Hannibal speaks. “You should stay here while I take care of your home. That way, you’ll be here when Abigail wakes up.”

“Ok,” Will says. A thought crosses his mind. “Jack sent me a folder with files about Abigail’s sighting. It’s on the desk, and if you grab it I can look inside and figure out the best course of action to take with… all this.”

Hannibal nods, looking thoughtful. “It will take me a few hours to properly dispose of the body, but I’ll be sure to bring it back with me.”

He downs the last of his coffee (gracefully, but no less swift for it) and slinks out of the kitchen. Will continues to drink his coffee slowly, listening to Hannibal getting ready. The noises fade surprisingly fast, and Will pokes his head out of the kitchen curiously when he hears Hannibal coming down the stairs. 

Hannibal is wearing what can only be tailored gym clothes, and Will has to fight not to grin. He must be doing a terrible job of concealing his mirth, because Hannibal stares him down as he approaches, daring Will to say something. Will remains tactfully silent, though he does smile into his cup. Hannibal steps past him to reach into a closet, pulling out his usual coat, Will watching fondly. 

“Drive safely,” Will says, abandoning his coffee to approach Hannibal. He smiles slightly. “And don’t get caught.”

Hannibal loftily arches a brow at him, face carefully blank, though his amusement is betrayed when he pulls Will into an embrace. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

They part and Hannibal heads for the garage, Will trailing behind him. Hannibal clicks a switch next to the lights and the garage door whirs into action. Will slides up behind him as the door lifts, pressing a gentle kiss to Hannibal’s cheek. 

“In all seriousness, don’t take any risks,” Will murmurs. Hannibal smiles and ducks into his car, lifting a hand to wave once he’s pulled out onto the street. Once the car is out of view and the garage door is on its way back down, Will trudges back into the house, wondering at his actions. Will’s not surprised at the direction their relationship has taken now that he’s thought about it, but the speed at which it’s developed would unsettle most, and, given his dire lack of past significant relationships, it’s left him feeling a little overwhelmed. 

Though not in a bad way, Will thinks, retrieving his coffee. He decides to use his time to figure out how to deal with Jack Crawford. He may not have the files with him, but Will can guess what’s inside them. Settling down in Hannibal’s opulent sitting room, Will plans, darkly brilliant mind whirring away, waiting for Hannibal to return.


	16. Chapter 16

Abigail pads downstairs half an hour after Hannibal leaves, drawn by the lingering smell of coffee. She’s trying to contain a yawn while balancing a tablet when she notices Will. They greet one another, smiling, and Will follows her into the kitchen.

“Know how to work this machine?” Will asks, eyeing the coffee maker dubiously. Abigail laughs and nods, setting her tablet down on the island before holding out a hand for his now-empty cup. Will watches her putter around the kitchen for a few minutes. Struck by a sudden, thought, he approaches her.

“Do you trust Hannibal?” Will asks, curious. He’s certain that she doesn’t, but Abigail seems remarkably calm on the home turf of the man who threatened to kill her. She hesitates, though when Will looks closely he can see that it’s not because she’s afraid of his reaction; rather, he realizes, she doesn’t want to disappoint him by saying no, given his feelings for Hannibal.

Ever the good child, Will thinks, apprehensive. Her loyalty has led her down dark paths before, after all, and while he cares for her deeply he doubts his ability to function as a good role model. At last, Abigail speaks, pouring coffee into his mug and handing it back to him.

“No,” she murmurs, avoiding his gaze. “He doesn’t have to try to hurt me to be dangerous- if it weren’t for you, he’d get rid of me the minute the cons outweigh the pros of keeping me around. I’ve lived with him and I still don’t know how his mind works, so I’d never see it coming until it was too late.”

Will nods, mulling over her words. “That’s… understandable. I wish it wasn’t so accurate. I don’t… know how to deal with this, to be honest. We’ll just have to take it one day at a time, I suppose.”

Abigail looks up at him, eyes wide and liquid. “I trust you, though. As long as you’re around I’m not worried.”

He’s touched, and takes a swig of coffee to mask his swell of emotion. They drink in silence for a few minutes, content just to be in the other’s presence, before Abigail reaches for her tablet, tapping away rapidly.

“What are you doing?” he asks. Abigail glances at him, smiling.

“I’m looking at cool places in Europe,” she replies. Will is surprised- Hannibal had only just told him about the possibility of leaving, though… it had sounded as though he’s had that plan in mind for some time. “Hannibal talked about it often, when you were imprisoned. I didn’t have a lot of stuff to do then, so it gave me something to think about.”

She tilts the screen so he can see it. “I’ve always wanted to go to Venice. It sounds nice. Better than backwoods Minnesota for hunting trips.”

Will eyes her, surprised. This is the closest they’ve come to discussing her father in ages, and they never really got close to truthfulness. Abigail doesn’t seem to notice his attention, focused on her tablet. Will has little interest in unearthing the details of her sordid past, so he lets it pass without remark. Although, he thinks, grimacing, they’ll have to talk about it eventually, given Jack’s renewed interest in Abigail.

“Abigail,” Will says, trailing off. She looks up at him, though her gaze tracks away once she senses his changed mood. “Jack Crawford called me the other night, saying you’d been spotted in a bar.”

She fidgets, troubled. “I… I went to that bar on purpose, actually. I wanted to be seen- I knew he’d call you as soon as he found out, and I knew that you’d want in on the case.”

Will remains silent, thinking. Abigail had demonstrated an aptitude for manipulation when recovering, and she had to have been a good actress and a quick thinker to aid her father- all of which is showing now. “You wanted to get away from Freddie since she’d only use you, maybe even hand you over to Jack, and you knew you couldn’t just waltz out of her apartment since Hannibal would find you… and you knew I’d help. That was very… efficient.”

He snorts. “We all deserve one another, don’t we?”

Abigail smiles at him, still abashed. “I guess so.”

Will’s good humor fades again. “Unfortunately, we still need to get Jack’s attention off you. He suspects you of the murders during my trial, even though there’s no evidence to support it. And there’s still Nicholas Boyle’s, ah, disappearance.”

He purses his lips, thinking hard. “Hannibal is good at what he does, so we can be sure that Boyle won’t be found. The FBI has the Ripper as their main suspect for the trial killings, so that shouldn’t be an issue either. It’s not like Jack’s got any kind of evidence against you, so… It’s really only a matter of explaining your supposed death. He’ll know something’s up and start looking into the how of it. We’ll just have to make sure that the explanation is airtight. Jack will be unhappy, but as long as he doesn’t have proof of wrongdoing…”

“The main issue is Hannibal knowing I was alive and not telling anyone. And me still hiding, of course,” Abigail replies, setting down her tablet. “I went to my house, which is where Hannibal found me. As far as I can tell, we have two ways to spin this: either we say Hannibal found me straight away, which would require a really good explanation for why we let you get locked up, or we say I spent time on the run before asking Hannibal for help. That would explain why I didn’t show up right away.”

“But that makes you look guilty. Plus, you’d have found out that I’d been locked up, which would have made it safe for you to reappear, and since you didn’t… Maybe… we say you were traumatized both by returning to the cabin and by my episode, so you ran home before you realized you didn’t feel safe there, so you left again. Alana would support that idea,” Will says, feeling guilt at the thought of using her. “We can say you wandered for a bit, maybe hitchhiked, then went to Hannibal. Since we’ve got all of Freddie’s stuff, we don’t need to bring her into this at all. It’s a bit of a stretch to say you had a breakdown lasting months, but… it’s the best we’ve got at the moment.”

Abigail looks unsatisfied, but she obviously can’t think of anything better, as she nods after a moment of thought. She sighs. “I just wish I didn’t have to deal with any of it.”

Will moves to pat her arm, then thinks better of it, lowering his hand as he speaks. “I wish you didn’t either. But don’t worry, we’ll get through this.”

She nods again, picking up her tablet once more. A moment later the door to the garage opens and Hannibal enters the kitchen. He and Abigail nod briefly at one another before he turns to Will.

“Everything has been taken care of. Freddie’s computer and hard drive are in my study- I felt that it would be best to go over her information before disposing of it. She had very little physical material, but I brought that as well. Here,” Hannibal says, handing Will the FBI folder. Will murmurs his thanks, flipping it open. He had only glanced at the contents when it was delivered, so the information is all new. It doesn’t take long to get the gist of what it says. 

“It’s all just speculation. There’s no evidence, just gut feelings. And it’s all from Jack… I bet he’s the only one that has any interest in pursuing this,” Will says, relieved. One less thing to worry about, he thinks, smiling at Hannibal and Abigail. “All we have to worry about now is getting Abigail back into society.”

“Good,” Hannibal replies, kissing Will’s cheek. “Shall we wait to go through Ms. Lounds’ possessions? I wouldn’t want to put anyone off of their breakfast.”

Hannibal and Will share a chuckle, and, though she remains silent, Will can see Abigail biting back a smile. He meanders toward the island, leaning against it, Abigail following in his footsteps, the two of them settling in to watch Hannibal at work.


	17. Chapter 17

Breakfast is a silent affair, though any tension is allayed with Will to act as a buffer between his companions. Abigail finishes eating first and leaves without a word, though she does glance back to smile at Will. With her absence, the mood in the room changes, Will poking at his food as he thinks. When he notices Hannibal watching him, he speaks.

“I’d rather keep Abigail out of this as much as possible,” Will says, pushing away his plate. “We talked about a few different cover stories, but, in the end, I think we should keep her away from Jack as much as possible.”

Hannibal considers him for a moment. “I agree, but I think for different reasons. As for cover stories, it would be suspicious if we said that I had taken her in immediately.”

“That’s what we figured. I’m sure you can come up with a plausible diagnosis for her, one that Alana will agree with.”

“Alana wants to believe the best of Abigail. Of everyone, really. I have a few ideas in mind, and I’m sure she’ll support me once I present my evidence,” Hannibal replies. “Post-traumatic stress disorder, of course, and deep-seated anger with her father, and grief…”

He trails off, thinking. “I’ve gotten most of it together, truth be told. All we have to do now is let someone know that Abigail is alive.”

“Take her to the hospital, I think. That would be expected if we really had found a traumatized missing girl,” Will says. He’s excited at the thought of progress, but his nerves are slowly building. All the people he’ll have to talk to, all the forms and arguments with Jack… Will shudders at the thought. “When do you want to do it?”

“Mm, tonight, I think. Lack of sleep will throw them off guard.”

Plans set, they leave the table, Hannibal to create a diagnosis and Will both to speak with Abigail and steel himself.

\---

The hospital is bright, noisy, and altogether unpleasant. Will presses his leg against Hannibal’s for comfort. They’ve been in the waiting room for about thirty minutes, and Jack has been glowering at them for all of it, though Alana’s quelling gaze keeps him from harassing the two of them. She puts a sympathetic arm on Will’s chair, offering support without the burden of physical contact. Will takes a brief moment to bless her kindness, crushing his guilt down at the thought of manipulating her. Now that she’s here, however, Will finds it easy to do so, Jack offering a reminder of what could happen if he loses his nerve.

Their heads snap up as an orderly pushes past the ER doors, though they’re ignored in favor of an exhausted couple in the next row of chairs. Jack watches for a moment before turning to Hannibal.

“Just how long have you known she was alive?” he demands.

Hannibal returns his gaze calmly, unruffled. “The better part of two weeks.”

He raises a hand when Jack’s expression becomes outraged. “I had my reasons, Jack. She was, and remains, traumatized, and I was afraid that she would flee from me, much as she had from Will, if I revealed her to anyone. She was extremely distressed, and barely trusted me to take her in, let alone talk to you about her.”

“You realize this could be considered obstruction of a missing persons case?” Jack growls. “You should have-”

“There’s precedent for Hannibal’s actions, Jack,” Alana interjects. She takes a deep breath. “Abigail wasn’t in the right frame of mind for him to talk to you. He would have done far more harm than good if he had betrayed her trust. She’s lost her entire family, Jack. For the sake of her continued mental health-”

Jack rounds on Alana. “She’s a suspect, Alana, and I can’t forget that.”

“She isn’t, though,” Will says, trying not to bristle. “There wasn’t any evidence against her and she wasn’t officially considered a suspect before she disappeared.” 

“You don’t find anything odd about her disappearing? The timing was convenient- suspected of aiding her father’s crimes, Nicholas Boyle vanishing after accusing her of murder- none of it strikes you as wrong?”

“And the fact that I scared the shit out of her by having violent hallucinations in her father’s murder cabin, after she had watched her mother get sent to her death, after she’d been attacked by her own father and accused of working with him- none of that is of interest to you?” Will snarls. Will silently curses Jack’s intuition. Jack was on the right path, even if he didn’t know the true reasons for it.

Jack has the grace to look ashamed, if only for a moment, though his rebuttal is cut off when a nurse approaches.

“If one of you would like to come back to Ms. Hobbes’ room..?” At his words, they rise as one. “She’s only allowed one visitor at a time. Hospital policy for the ER. Sorry.”

Jack moves toward the doors, but Alana holds him back. “She’s not ready to face you yet, Jack, especially not alone. Wait until she has someone there to support her.”

Jack eyes Will and Hannibal as she speaks, and, sensing defeat, nods. “I want in the second she seems up to it.”

“I understand that you want to speak with her, but you need to wait. If she’s not wanted for any crime and doesn’t need to be questioned for an investigation, I can’t in good conscience allow you in until she asks for you,” Alana says, voice soft. She turns to Hannibal. “I know you aren’t her therapist, but she trusted you enough to turn to you for help, so you should be her first visitor.”

Will must have made a disappointed noise, because Alana turns to him next. She smiles gently at him, a knowing look in her eyes. “If Hannibal says it’s alright, you can be her second visitor.”

Will mumbles indistinctly in response as Hannibal follows the nurse through the doors. Jack, apparently having given up for the night, says something about calling him that Will doesn’t listen to before walking out the main entrance. Alana settles down with Will on an uncomfortable couch-bench hybrid with a prime view of the ER doors, talking about nothing in what Will recognizes as an attempt to distract him. While he certainly doesn’t need it now, he appreciates the gesture. About an hour later Hannibal reemerges, waving Will through.

Once in Abigail’s room, which is actually a nook with a privacy curtain pulled across its front, Will studies her. “Doing alright? I can’t imagine the needles and invasive questions are any fun.”

Abigail turns and smiles at him, false tension dropping away when she sees who it is. “Yeah, but necessary. I just hope they don’t keep me too long. They already said something about an overnight stay, but that’s more because they don’t know what to do with a not-dead person, I guess.”

“Better you than me,” Will says, eyeing the medical equipment with distaste. “I guess I should give Alana a turn, huh? You up for visiting with her?”

Instantly Abigail turns in on herself, shrinking into her bed with a glassy look to her eyes. She doesn’t look him in the eye as she speaks, a tremor cutting through her words. “I- I’m not sure… Do you think I’m ready?”

Startled at the sudden change in attitude, Will blinks at her. Before he can reply, Abigail straightens up and laughs, patting his hand. “I’ve got this. Alana’s a nice lady, but she trusts me too much, I think. You should get going, you look dead tired. Come visit me tomorrow?”

Will nods, hugging her briefly before returning to the waiting room. “She’s ready to see you, Alana.”

Alana smiles at him and reminds him of how lucky they are to have Abigail back, and that he should get some rest, she’ll look after Abigail… Will feels his exhaustion creep up on him as she walks through the doors. 

“You really should go home, Will,” Hannibal says, discreetly brushing against his hand. “I’ll stay here as Abigail’s secondary therapist. I’ll call you before hospital visiting hours start.”

“Mm. I’d promise to bring you coffee, but I don’t know how to work your machine… Any shops you like?” 

Hannibal curls his lip at the thought and Will has to refrain from laughing. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“I’ve made it through longer stretches with less caffeine, Will,” Hannibal replies. “I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, then.” Will smiles at Hannibal once more, retrieving his coat from the couch-bench, and walks toward the entrance. “You play nice with Abigail, hear me?”

Hannibal doesn’t turn, but Will can see the barest hint of a smile from the side. “As always, my dear.”

Will wanders to his car, perturbed. The comment is vaguely ominous in a way he doesn’t quite understand, but- he’s being absurd, he thinks angrily to himself. It’s not as though the man would do anything rash in a fucking hospital- all those witnesses. And besides, Will thinks, he saved Abigail for me. He wouldn’t dare.

But what Hannibal would or wouldn’t dare to do is something Will doesn’t speculate upon, leaving the thought unfinished. He drives to Hannibal’s house before realizing that he doesn’t have a key. Groaning, Will fishes his cell phone from his coat pocket and texts Hannibal. A few minutes later he has the code to open Hannibal’s garage door and he parks his car inside, figuring that Hannibal won’t need the space for now. 

Will toes his shoes off in the garage and carries them into the house, shoving them into the nearest coat closet before entering the kitchen. Too jittery to sleep, he wanders from room to room, gazing around Hannibal’s home. As he walks he notices little pieces of his own life in the house. He has few material goods in the house to mark his presence, but the dining room chairs are pushed out of place and the grand couch in the living room is still dented from when he sat there this morning- small intrusions in Hannibal’s domain that look entirely natural. 

If I can do all this in just one day, he thinks, how much more will our lives intertwine in the future? Will walks upstairs to their bedroom, marveling at the sudden strangeness of it all. He flops down on the bed for a moment, eyes closed and thinking of nothing. He’s nearing sleep when the house creaks and settles, jolting him back to wakefulness. 

Grumbling, Will rolls over, mashing the pillow with his fist. Two hours later he gives up on tossing and turning and goes downstairs to retrieve his phone, which has one new message.

JACK CRAWFORD - (1)  
I need your opinion on this.

Will raises a brow. He hadn’t said much at the hospital, but he thought he’d gotten the message across. Knowing Jack, he thinks, it’s probably one last bid for support. Will calls him.

“Will,” Jack says. He sounds alert, so he must have been waiting up for Will to reply. “What have you got for me?”

“Jack, I already told you- I believe Abigail. Why would she lie about this?”

“Look, I’ll have Dr. Bloom take a look at her, see if she really is traumatized. But whether or not she is, don’t you think it’s odd that Hannibal was the one with all the answers?”

“So Hannibal’s behind it now?” Will asks, temper rising. “You’ve got to decide Jack- Abigail can’t be Hannibal’s puppet and a criminal mastermind at the same time.”

Jack is quiet for nearly a minute. “I think she helped her father kill those girls. I don’t have any evidence, but it makes sense. I know that she most likely did it because he would have killed her, but acting out of fear doesn’t make it ok.”

“Look, just get to the point. I already know about those theories.”

“If it’s true, then that means it’s unlikely that she’ll break the law again. If she had a hand in Boyle’s disappearance then it was most likely self-defense. I get that. But, if she was so traumatized, how was she able to stay under the radar this long? Hannibal says he’s only had contact with her a few weeks. And why would a frightened girl sneak into a bar? One of them has to be lying,” Jack says, voice strong.

Will sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know how it looks. But Abigail has been through so much. She could have been in a fugue state for all we know. We don’t know where she was before going to Hannibal. You and I know better than most how easy it is for someone to get lost in the crowd. Leave the psychology to Alana and make your decisions based on her review.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you agreeing with Hannibal Lecter again,” Jack says at last. When Will takes a breath to reply Jack cuts him off. “Look, never mind that. As soon as Dr. Bloom finishes up with Abigail I’ll talk to her myself. And Hannibal.”

Will doesn’t reply.

“Take care, Will,” Jack sighs. The call ends and Will groans, frustrated. Damn Jack’s stubbornness, he thinks, rubbing at his eyes. Without any evidence for his theories, all Jack has to go on is his intuition, which has served him well enough in the past that he’ll trust it, evidence or not. The worst part is that Jack is right. Will knows Jack has no legal way of discovering the truth, but the fear remains despite knowing that.

The one good thing about talking to Jack, Will muses, is that it’s tiring. Exhaustion creeps up on him once more, and Will shuffles upstairs to collapse on the bed, where he falls into a dreamless sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

The next morning Abigail is discharged from the hospital into the joint care of Hannibal and Alana, Will having driven over to accompany them. She'll have to go through weeks of paperwork to get her legal status changed, but Hannibal assures Will that his lawyer can take care of everything save for Abigail's signature. Despite this, Will doesn't breathe easily until Abigail is back at Hannibal's house, Alana leaving after setting up a treatment schedule. 

"I'm glad that's over," Abigail says, hanging her coat. "That was exhausting. Thank god I don't have to talk to Jack."

"He'll be wanting to, at some point, so don't be surprised if he shows up. I'd suggest you stay here so he can't get to you," Will replies. He walks back toward the garage. "I've got to check up on my dogs- they're probably restless at this point."

Hannibal approaches him. "If you must. Can I expect you for dinner tonight, at least?"

Will smiles fondly at him. "Yeah, sure. I can come early if you want, to help cook and stuff."

The two embrace and Hannibal murmurs into Will's neck. "You should spend some time with your dogs, of course, but after that you can return immediately."

"Is that a suggestion or an order?" Will laughs. He ignores Abigail's waggling eyebrow and pulls back to give Hannibal a quick peck on the cheek. "I'd better go now. Any longer and the dogs will probably start eating my furniture."

"More than they already have, you mean?" Hannibal says, releasing Will with obvious reluctance. He waves off Will's halfhearted protest. "They're very well-behaved for such a large group. Go on now. I'll see you in a few hours."

Will can hear Abigail ask about this evening's dishes as he walks out the door. Hannibal's garage is well insulated and heated, so his car is nicely warmed, and Will gives an absent hum of appreciation as he pulls out of the driveway. 

The dogs are ecstatic, although that's not unusual behavior for his loving mutts. Will takes the time to go around the pack, cuddling with each dog individually. They scamper around his feet, barking excitedly, growing louder as he brings out the kibble. As a treat for his long absence, Will takes them on a three hour walk in the woods, to the dogs' delight. Eventually, though, they go back to the house, Will eager to return to Hannibal and Abigail. 

His visit to the dogs has taken so long that the scent of the first course has already taken over the house. Will hovers uselessly in the kitchen for a few moments before Hannibal hands him a peeler and sends him off to the sink with carrots. It's so different from the last time they tried to cook together that Will has to pause. Hannibal doesn't say anything, but his amused glance tells Will that he knows where Will's thoughts have gone. 

With Abigail in the living room nearby, there is no overt flirting, but brief touches occur between the mincing and sautéing with enough regularity that dinner is served a full ten minutes late. 

They "stop making bedroom eyes at each other" when Abigail chastises them. Hannibal and Abigail appear content to ignore one another, their silence overlaid with a veneer of civility, though Will, to his chagrin, has to put his abysmal social skills to work once or twice to keep some form of conversation going.

Dinner is naturally brief, though Will and Hannibal retreat to the study for drinks. They linger for a few hours before Will heads back to Wolf Trap, figuring that the dogs would only be so forgiving of his continued absence.

\---

Five days pass with Will visiting Hannibal and Abigail for dinner. The two have reached an unspoken consensus to avoid one another, which, Will thinks grimly, does not bode well for their ability to behave once the three of them are overseas. He spends the week after attempting various methods of bridging the gap between the two of them, although it comes to naught. 

Exactly two weeks after Abigail's release from the hospital, Will receives a call from Jack.

"Hello, Jack" Will mumbles. Jack sighs at his distinct lack of enthusiasm. 

"Will," Jack says briskly. "I'd like to speak with Abigail."

"You should really be asking Alana or Hannibal about that," Will replies, chary. Jack is silent long enough to confirm Will's suspicions. 

"Alana says she doesn't want to meet with me. Hannibal won't even pass on my messages."

"Jack," Will groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Leave it alone. There's nothing you can do if she won't come to you."

"She trusts you," Jack says. "Say something to her. I just want to confirm something. She's been holed up in Hannibal's house."

"She's been holed up in his house," Will says, breathing hard through his nose, "because she knows you'll jump her the instant she leaves."

Jack takes a breath to reply, but Will cuts him off. "Look, Jack, don't call again. Not about this, anyway. If you do, I'll block your number."

Will hangs up, his phone locking with a satisfying click. 

\---

Two days later, Will arrives at Hannibal's for dinner. He'd offered to bring some groceries, but Hannibal had said something about an unpolished eye for quality and that he'd take care of it personally.

Abigail is reading in her room when Will arrives, so he settles himself in the kitchen, as usual. When Hannibal comes in, laden with groceries, Will helps carry the bags in. Those can't possibly fit in his fridge, Will thinks, staring at the mountain of cloth bags. 

"Where..?" Will gestures at the mass. Hannibal cocks his head, considering Will, and then smiles. 

"I'll show you where we can put the extra ingredients," he says, leading Will to the pantry. Hannibal leans down swiftly, sticky his hand underneath a shelf, and there's a gentle click as a cleverly concealed door swings forward. 

Will's breath catches in his throat. This is- 

They descend a small staircase, which opens up into a clinical cellar, filled with shiny surfaces, and at the far wall is a bank of refrigerators, which can only be where-

Hannibal slides a hand around Will's elbow, guiding him to the back of the room. He looks appropriately smug at Will's stunned silence.

"It's not where I keep most groceries, but..." He walks behind Will, leans into him, arms snaking around Will's waist possessively. "I thought it was time you knew."

Will can feel Hannibal smirking against his ear.

"This is..." Will looks around, mind spinning with images. He can see Hannibal looming over his victims- a cut of meat- here, draining them of blood- the clean sense of purpose in each flick of the scalpel- and through it all, Will can feel the agony and terror of the people who died in this room, but- all of it slinks in next to him, curling up around him invitingly, never overwhelming his sense of self the way other killers have. 

The dark memories settle in him like a long-forgotten friend and Will remains steady in Hannibal's arms. He turns, catches the gleam in Hannibal's eyes and they fall into one another's gaze. It's only when they hear the creak of Abigail's footsteps from the kitchen above that their reverie is broken. When they pull apart, Will is surprised to find himself panting.

"Thank you," he says at last, staring at Hannibal. The man seems equally affected, and he simply nods.

After a minute, in which Will continues to peer about the cellar with Hannibal watching, the psychiatrist moves toward a small safe in the wall. 

"Will, our travel documents and papers are in this safe, both legal and forged. I want you to have the combination for safety's sake."

Will nods. "Good idea. You have cash in there, right?"

"Everything we need is in this safe," Hannibal replies. "I have a few other stashes like this one that contain more documents for myself, but this is ours. In case we need to flee quickly, take everything and I'll go to another cache, if necessary."

Will nods. He takes a final look around the room before they head upstairs to unpack the groceries. 

\---

Later that evening, as they're getting ready for bed, Will is slowed by the memory of the cellar. He hardly notices Hannibal murmuring his name, too caught up in it, so he's startled when Hannibal runs a hand down his back. 

"Will, are you alright?"

"Mm, yeah, I was just thinking about this afternoon. It was... I could feel you. I've done it before, obviously, but not in your workspace. It was... Intimidating, in its own way. Magnificent."

Hannibal preens. He pulls Will down onto the bed, close to his chest, and runs a hand through Will's curls. 

"It made me realize something, though," Will says. The hand slows. "We can't just disappear. The Ripper can't just disappear."

Hannibal mulls it over. "What did you have in mind?"

"I think we need to give Jack the Ripper," Will says, rolling over to face Hannibal. "Closure, in a sense. Package up this chapter of our lives and deliver it neatly to the one man it impacts most. And... I think we should do it soon."

"The idea has appeal, though how much would depend on your definition of give."

Will smiles darkly. They don't say anything else, but Will can feel Hannibal's satisfaction long into the night. 

\---

Three days later, when Will walks out of the woods with his dogs, Jack Crawford is waiting on his porch, holding an envelope with Hannibal's elegant handwriting on it. Will groans and the dogs whiffle around him, picking up on his sour mood. 

"Jack," Will says, terse. He doesn't move to open the door, electing to stare at the man. Jack tries not to grimace at Will's greeting. 

"Will. I wanted to talk to you. I've been trying to build a case against Lecter- I really think you were on to something when you said he was the Chesapeake Ripper. I've got a plan, and I want you in on it."

Will is nearly overcome with a wave of foreboding. "There's no evidence against the Ripper, Jack, you know that. You've never found any."

"But I will," Jack says. "Hannibal has invited me to dinner next Thursday. I want you there."

"You expect him to serve you human flesh?" Will asks. "I think he'd notice if you had a portable lab ready to test his food, Jack."

Jack smiles. It is cold and determined, and entirely lacking warmth. "No, it's not the food that's important. He's going to try to kill me."

Will's heart nearly stops. "How do you know-?"

"The Ripper is smart. Hannibal will know what I'm trying to do, and he'll try to kill me anyway. I'm his Captain Ahab, and he'll never get any peace while I'm around."

"That- that's illegal. It's not admissible in court, Jack. You could get fired over this," Will says, trying to conceal his fear. "There's no way it'll stick."

"It's my only chance, Will. I'm willing to risk it all. I'm asking you to be part of this, because, for whatever reason, Hannibal likes you," Jack says, grim. 

"I don't- Jesus, Jack," Will says, sinking down on his porch chair. He has no idea what to do- Jack obviously doesn't know he's been spending nights with Hannibal- but this is all getting too close for comfort, and Will is close to panic. "I- won't. I won't do it."

Jack looks surprised. Will rises, advancing on him. "Leave, Jack. Do what you want- just don't drag me into your plan."

Jack nods, looking weary. "Alright, Will, just... Be careful, alright?"

With that, he turns and goes, and the black FBI car quickly glides out of sight. Will's heart is still hammering through his chest, and he finds that he needs desperately to see Abigail and Hannibal. 

Will makes the drive in record time, punching in Hannibal's garage door code, only to find the garage empty- Hannibal must have patients, Will realizes. When he enters the house he can't find Abigail. Jack has him so wound up that he nearly interrupts Hannibal's sessions before realizing that today is one of Abigail's therapy days with Alana. 

Still unsettled, Will paces the house for a few minutes. Suddenly, he remembers the safe downstairs, and decided that checking it would reassure him. After some fumbling he gets the cellar door open, and with a few quick steps he's down the stairs. The room is, however, already occupied.

The corpse is hanging upside down from a hook, a hole in the throat near the chin, blood seeping out slowly enough that Will knows it's been mounted for several days- probably right after Hannibal showed him the cellar. Will feels a surge of anger towards Hannibal for killing without warning him. Their dinner with Jack is only days away, and he realizes now that Hannibal would find human meat the only fitting dish, but Will's anxiety has taxed his patience. He grinds his teeth as he walks to the safe. Once the lock clicks open, Will pulls out the sole item inside- a metal briefcase that appears, at first, to only contain money. After sifting through the stacks Will is able to find passports. His mind is drifting down from his adrenaline high when Will notices-

There are only two.


	19. Chapter 19

Will returns the box to the safe, locks it up tight, and retreats from the cellar. He isn’t aware that he’s leaving Hannibal’s until his keys are in the ignition. The drive back to Wolf Trap passes in a blur, and when he gets home Will spends an hour with his face buried in Winston’s fur. 

He jolts out of his stupor when his phone begins to ring. It’s Hannibal, of course, asking him why he isn’t here for dinner, and if he would please give more warning next time it would be much preferred, and by the time the conversation is over Will has promised to come over, despite the lateness of the hour, although he petulantly drags himself to his shower so as to drag the whole affair out. Will dithers there, staring down the fancy soaps Hannibal had given him. When he finally steps out he smells of sandalwood and some other exotic plant, a delicate blend that Hannibal claims complements his natural scent, though Will is tempted to mar it with his customary aftershave.

Will barely pays attention on the drive to Hannibal’s. It’s past eleven when he finally pulls into the driveway, though Hannibal steps out the front door the instant Will’s car is off. He ushers Will into the house and they stop in the kitchen, where Hannibal insists on making a late dinner for Will, who watches Hannibal whisk with increasing displeasure.

“And here, for added depth, a pinch of sea salt-”

“Fuck the salt!” Will explodes. Hannibal whips around and freezes, staring at him. It’s perhaps the most off guard Will has ever seen him, and it would be comical if he weren’t so angry. 

“Will?” Hannibal asks, recovering swiftly. He sets down his mixing bowl and approaches slowly, wiping his hands on a towel. He makes an aborted move to reach out, apparently deciding to wait for Will to respond. “Are you alright?”

“There are only two fucking passports, just yours and mine- no, I’m not alright. I,” Will announces, advancing on Hannibal, “am fucking furious with you.”

They stand toe to toe, Will glaring at Hannibal. Will hisses “You lied to me- you keep lying to me” and then, looking down at Hannibal’s chest, anguished, “Why would you do that?”

“Will,” Hannibal murmurs. Will startles when Hannibal pulls him into a hug. “I would have given you the family you desired, Will, but she didn’t want that. Abigail left my home, even though she knew what it meant- I have to act accordingly.”

Irate, Will shoves him away. “She left because she was terrified of you- you pushed her away, you did this!”

Hannibal makes soothing noises and tries to hold him again, but Will snarls and slaps his hands away. Hannibal is still looking at him with a terrible kindness in his gaze, and Will snaps. He lunges forward, striking at Hannibal, who sidesteps him, and Will redoubles his efforts, grunting with each swing. 

“You- fucking- bastard-”

Hannibal grabs his wrist on the next jab. Will tries to wrench out of Hannibal’s grasp, but it’s too strong, and while he’s distracted Hannibal swipes his feet out from under him, sending them crashing to the floor. Hannibal grabs Will’s other wrist and sits on his hips, pinning him. Will writhes furiously, spitting and cursing, but Hannibal is all bulky muscle underneath his suits, and soon Will is forced to lay still. Panting, he glares up at Hannibal, who hasn’t even broken a sweat.

“Will,” Hannibal says. “Darling Will. You act as though I saved her only to use against you, but I promise, that isn’t so.”

He leans down, lips brushing against Will’s ear, voice a quiet sigh. Will jerks away, shuddering with anger. “I saved her for you, only for you- it was to be the moment when everything came back together again- this was never meant to hurt, Will-”

Will is so caught up in Hannibal’s words that he doesn’t notice when Hannibal releases one wrist, his hand curling behind Will’s head to tilt it closer to his own. “The three of us, together- I didn’t threaten Abigail, Will- she simply isn’t like us. She’s barely more than a child, frightened of the world- I saved her because it’s what you wanted, for your impossible dream- was it cruel of me to let you wish for something you couldn’t have? Perhaps, but I did so because that’s what you wanted- my dear Will, it’s what you wanted…”

Hannibal’s soft murmurs leave Will feeling dazed and raw, and he is limp under Hannibal, eyes tightly shut, a hint of wetness at their corners, free hand unconsciously curled into Hannibal’s shirt. They spend several minutes like this, Hannibal’s whispers constant as he runs his fingers through Will’s hair. At last, Hannibal eases them up, shifting Will into an embrace.

“I tried, Will. If there were another way, I would take it for you, but there isn’t. If we took Abigail with us, you would become her father in the same way that Hobbes was -twisting her from the inside out into something she is not, forcing her into a sham. She would grow to fear and resent you,” Hannibal says, pulling back to look Will in the eyes. He cups Will’s cheek, expression serious. “She cannot come with us, Will.”

Tears prickle at the corners of Will’s eyes. Hannibal’s terrible kindness remains, now suffocating, and Will pulls away, gasping. Hannibal seems to realize this, allowing Will’s escape, and he helps Will up from the floor. 

“If you’re not hungry, I can clear the kitchen while you get ready for bed,” Hannibal says, stepping away. Will nods mutely and stumbles out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He pauses in front of Hannibal’s bedroom door, pressing his forehead to the door and gulping in air. He looks to the side, and from the corner of his eye he can see Abigail’s bedroom door is open, her pale face peeking out through the crack.

\---

Abigail doesn’t join them for breakfast, although, given the hour, Will doesn’t think much of her absence. He eats in a miserable daze, barely managing half his plate. Hannibal pats him comfortingly while clearing up, though he doesn’t say anything to Will before leaving for his first client. Will, left to wallow in his emotions, opts to lay on the couch while he gathers himself.

Will is angry at Hannibal for letting him have false hope, angry at himself for not realizing its impossibility… And then there’s the guilt, too, guilt for appreciating Abigail not for herself, but for how her father saw her. Hannibal’s words about Garret Jacob Hobbs ring true- Abigail had hardly been interested in him when they spoke in the hospital, a one-sided connection that he pursued largely due to Hobbs’ lingering influence on his mind. Now, she appreciates his company, although how much of that is genuine is questionable, given how Will is all that stands between her and Hannibal. Abigail is a survivor above all else, and if she needed to love him as her father then she would, and Will can’t help but feel as though he’s forced those emotions on her. To top it all off, Will is the reason that Hannibal and Abigail met in the first place.

Just as he reaches new emotional depths Abigail pads downstairs. Will remains facedown on the couch, though he can sense her gaze. She hesitates for a moment before walking into the kitchen, and Will sighs as he listens to her bustling. Will is lost in his thoughts when she returns.

“Will?” Abigail asks, perching on the couch arm. He peers up at her questioningly. She swallows heavily. “I heard you talking last night.”

When it becomes clear that she’s not going to continue Will speaks. “I… I didn’t know. I don’t know what to say. I think… I’m afraid Hannibal might be right.”

“I would be all right, I think. Eventually. I don’t think I’d resent you, Will. Maybe him- ok, definitely him, but you’d be there, and it would be all right,” Abigail says haltingly, picking at the couch fibers. When Will takes in a breath to reply she holds up a hand to stop him. “I know it wouldn’t be like you wanted, but that’s not why I wanted to talk to you. I’m not going to ask you to get him to take me with you. It’s just-”

She breaks off, turning her head to the side, her hair obscuring her face from view. Her hands are trembling. “You know what it means, Will- it makes me a loose end and I’m so afraid.”

“Abigail,” Will says, alarmed when her shoulders begin to shake. He reaches out to grip her arm. “Abigail, look at me. I won’t let him hurt you. No, listen- you’ve got every reason to be frightened, but it won’t end like that. There’s no point in hurting you, Abigail. Jack is coming to dinner and then we’ll flee the country. Everyone will already know at that point- you won’t have any new information.”

“But he- you can’t promise me that, Will. He’s been waiting for an excuse to get rid of me for ages-”

“Abigail… I can stop him. I will stop him, ok, you’ll be fine, really…” Will murmurs, guiding her down from the couch arm. When she turns to him, her eyes are glassy, though no tears have spilled out yet. The trembling has subsided, though intermittent tremors still run through her hands. “Don’t worry.”

Something shutters in her eyes and she is quiet for a moment. “I- I guess. Um… Don’t tell Hannibal? Please.”

“Of course not,” Will says. Abigail sniffles once before standing up to leave the room. “You’ll be alright, Abigail, you’ll see.”

When she turns to smile weakly at him Will can tell that she doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t know what else to say, so he simply watches her leave.

\---

As the days pass, Abigail becomes more and more withdrawn, nerves setting in. The day after she and Will spoke she leaves for a therapy appointment and returns blank-faced, a worried Alana in tow. Since the appointment ended shortly before dinner, Will is there to witness Alana’s concern, and he does a poor job of easing it, though when Hannibal takes her aside and speaks with her for several minutes, she leaves looking calm. Will spends more time with Abigail after that, figuring that he could provide a comforting presence, if nothing else.

The day before the dinner, Hannibal packs a bag. Will heads home to do the same and to spend one final afternoon with his dogs, who he has arranged homes for. That evening, having fed and petted his dogs, he takes a long look around his house- the clutter and the fur and the memories- and breathes it all in. Winston, sensing that something was awry, gently headbutts his leg, and shortly Will is once again petting his dogs. He spends the night at his own house, allowing the dogs to sleep with him on the bed for the first time.

The next morning, Will gets up before dawn and spends the entire morning driving the dogs to their new homes. By design, Winston is the last to go, and Will takes a moment to hug him one last time. Will immediately heads to Hannibal’s home since he can’t bear the thought of going back to his empty house.

He and Hannibal have a large lunch (“We may not get the chance to eat much this evening,” Hannibal says) while Abigail stays in her room. Will feels strangely calm, and when he says as much to Hannibal the man chuckles.

“Good,” he replies. “It means you’re not getting second thoughts.”

“I have plenty of those,” Will says. “I’m just not going to let them affect me.”

This prompts another smile from Hannibal.

“By the way,” Will says, voice deceptively light, fixing Hannibal with a steely gaze. “We leave Abigail. That’s it. She stays here in Baltimore, unharmed, left to do whatever it is she wants to.”

Hannibal pauses, considers his point, and at last replies: “If you insist, Will.”

“I do,” Will says. They return to their food, silent for a few moments, before their conversation starts up again. And they didn’t speak about Abigail for the rest of the afternoon.

\---

That evening, as Hannibal is preparing their dinner, he asks Will to retrieve the documents from the safe. “There’s a steel case next to it- you can put them in there. Set it by the garage door, please.”

When Will reenters the kitchen, case in hand, he stops to look over the food. “Are you making steak and potatoes?”

“A rather different kind of meat than the typical American fare, but yes,” Hannibal says, dicing some onion. “It’s not a traditional recipe either, but I felt like giving a nod to this country before we leave.”

“No deep-fried butter?” Will teases. Hannibal doesn’t dignify that with a response, electing to turn back to the stove, though Will can hear his disgusted sniff. After placing the case next to the garage door, Will is given the task of setting the table, which Abigail comes down to help him with. They’re halfway through putting down steak knives when the doorbell rings. Abigail and Will freeze and stare at one another, only moving when they hear a second chime.

Abigail all but throws down the last of the cutlery and hurries down the hall to the door, greeting Jack in a strained voice. Will can’t blame her for her nerves because he’s suddenly having a hard time moving, and it takes him a moment to walk into the kitchen, napkins draped over his arm, forgotten, one final knife and fork in hand. Jack is already there, Abigail hovering between him and Hannibal.

“Will. I didn’t think I’d see you here,” Jack says, eyes darkening with suspicion. 

Will shrugs, opens his mouth, and quickly closes it. Hannibal, wiping his hands off on his apron and turns to Jack, a tiny smile on his face. “Jack, you’re early. We didn’t expect you for another two hours.”

“Well,” Jack says with a humorless smile, “I couldn’t bear to wait.”

There’s a tense moment where none of them move, and then they all spring into action at once. Jack whips out his gun, taking aim at Hannibal. Will takes a step toward Abigail, but Hannibal, who is much closer, reaches out and snatches her to his chest, sweeping a knife off the counter in the same movement, and Will can’t help but cry out when the blade presses against her neck.

“Hannibal,” Will breathes, horrified. Abigail is shaking in Hannibal’s grasp, and her terrified gaze darts between Will and Jack’s gun.

“DROP THE KNIFE,” Jack bellows. Hannibal is watching the gun carefully, but with most of his body hidden behind Abigail’s he’s in no danger of getting hit unless Jack is willing to shoot through Abigail. Will takes half a step forward, freezing when Jack shouts at him. “Don’t move, Will!”

“Lower the gun, Jack. You don’t have a clean shot,” Hannibal says calmly, as though there isn’t a gun pointed at him. He takes a slow, measured step backwards, closer to Will. Jack blinks once at this, but the gun doesn’t waver in his hand. “Put it on the ground and kick it away.”

“Jack, please,” Will moans, still staring at Hannibal’s knife. Jack, furious, glances around the room quickly, trying to come up with a plan. After a moment he grimaces and sweeps his left hand off the gun and into the air, raising both hands in surrender.

“Alright, just don’t do anything. See, I’m putting it down, nice and slow…” Jack leans over.

Just as the gun is about to reach the floor, Abigail sobs, chest heaving, and Hannibal adjusts his grip on her, exposing the left side of his face. Jack instantly whips the gun up and fires twice. Hannibal just barely manages to duck to the side, one bullet grazing his ear, and he lurches backward, still holding Abigail, as Jack charges forward. Before Jack can reach them, Will jumps into the fray, grabbing Hannibal’s right hand and jerking it away from Abigail, trying desperately to get the knife away from her, napkins and cutlery falling from his grasp.

Hannibal pushes Will away, trying to watch Jack, who gets close enough for Hannibal to kick the gun out of his hands. Jack ignores the gun, instead lunging forward. Between Will’s grabs for Abigail and Jack’s assault Hannibal becomes unbalanced, and when Jack kicks at Hannibal’s legs it’s enough to send Will, Abigail, and Hannibal to the ground. Hannibal swipes his leg out and knocks Jack’s legs out from under him, and soon they’re in a mad tangle of limbs, all writhing furiously to be the first to stand. Hannibal manages to shove Abigail off of his torso enough to sit up, and, twisting over her, he stabs at Jack, once, twice, blood spurting out across all of them.

Jack, gasping now, rolls back and manages to grab the gun, aiming it at Hannibal, who is now fully exposed. Hannibal freezes for a moment before grabbing Abigail once more. The two stare at one another- Jack can’t shoot without risking Abigail, and Hannibal can’t move for fear of being shot. Will finally manages to jerk up to his knees.

“Hannibal, STOP,” Will shouts. 

Hannibal ignores him. “So, what now, Jack? It appears we’re at a standstill.”

Jack is pale and his wet gasps grow fainter with each breath. “Drop… the weapon…”

“I don’t think so,” Hannibal says, cocking his head. “You seem to be having some trouble holding your weapon. All I have to do is wait you out. It shouldn’t take long- I’ve seen these sorts of wounds before.”

Jack snarls, gun visibly shaking in his grip. His eyes, filled with pain, take on a steely glint. “I guess so. That just means I’ll have to make this quick.”

Will, though more used to his empathy reconstructing crime scenes rather than predicting them, can tell how this will go- Jack will fire before he loses the strength to do so, and Hannibal will kill Abigail out of spite before finishing off Jack (if he hasn’t been shot, fuck, this isn’t how anything was supposed to happen) and Will will be left alone and Hannibal promised not to harm Abigail.

Hannibal and Jack still, and just as Will can see their fingers curl hard around their weapons his mind goes blank.

Liar.

He promised.

She will be safe Will, even if she isn’t with us I promise no harm will come to her you’ll see she’ll even be happier on her own I promise I promise I promise-

Will slides toward Hannibal, fingers brushing the floor- Jack’s blood- cloth, that’s the napkins, and- the world has gone slow and Will can see Hannibal’s muscles tense, fingers dragging in Abigail’s hair, the knife cutting through the air towards her throat (in his peripheral vision, Jack’s fingers, shaking harder than ever, trying to depress the trigger)- Will’s hand, covered by the napkins, clenches hard around his own weapon- and before the other men can move, Will has thrown off the napkins, has raised his hand in the air, that final steak knife in hand, and is moving forward-

And then Hannibal’s blood is spurting over Will’s hand, gushing from the wound in his side, the man himself turning to stare at Will in shock, his knife slipping from his grasp.

“Will,” Hannibal whispers, so quiet in his disbelief. He looks down at his wound, pressing a hand to it, staring when it comes away red. He looks back up. “Will..?”

Will drops his own knife, gasping for air as he slips back down to the floor, landing heavily on Abigail’s other side. Abigail, still quivering, lunges out of Hannibal’s grasp, backpedaling to the other side of the kitchen, where she watches the two of them with huge eyes. Jack nearly drops his gun, and though he maintains a hold on it he clearly doesn’t have the strength to keep aiming at Hannibal. Hannibal reaches out to Will’s face, pressing his other hand firmly against his side. Will closes his eyes, shuddering when he feels Hannibal cup his face, and when he opens them again he can’t help the tears that start pouring down his face.

“Liar,” Will chokes. Hannibal shifts painfully, moving both hands to the ground to support himself, and Will’s gaze is drawn to the wound. Ignoring Jack and Abigail, he shoves the knives away and snatches up the napkins, pressing them to Hannibal’s side. “You fucking liar. Jesus, if you hadn’t…”

“Will,” Hannibal says. When Will meets his gaze he’s shocked to find Hannibal smiling faintly. “My dear Will, I never could tell what you were going to do. It’s alright. I forgive you.”

Will stares at him before a fresh wave of tears obscures his vision. His hands clench around the napkins, which are rapidly becoming soaked with blood. “I- Medicine kit. Where-?”

“Near the door to the garage, with the other case. I’ll be fine once I’m patched up.”

Will rises shakily to get the kit, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. Abigail is still watching them fearfully, and Jack- Jack is looking at him, first with horror and then fury, and though he’s clearly fading fast, he manages to rally the strength to lift his gun at Hannibal and fire once before passing out. Will jerks at the sound of the gunshot, whirling back down to Hannibal’s side.

Though Jack was barely able to lift his gun, his aim was true, and there’s a second dark stain spreading across the left side of Hannibal’s chest, and Hannibal collapses onto the floor, gasping heavily, blood already pooling in his mouth.

“Oh, Jesus, no, fuck- Hannibal,” Will cries. He can feel the panic rising up. “I- I’ll go get the first aid kit, you’ll be fine, Hannibal…”

As Will tries to stand up, Hannibal grabs his hands, grasp weak. “Will… wait-”

“No, I have to get the kit- Hannibal-”

“Will,” Hannibal says forcefully, a little bubble of blood popping at the side of his mouth. “This… isn’t something that kit can help.”

“Ok, so you need the hospital. I’ll call 911 and, fuck, you’ll be ok.”

Hannibal doesn’t let go of Will’s hands. “No, Will… There’s not enough… time. If you take me to the hospital, you won’t… have time to get away.”

“Don’t talk like that, Hannibal, just- no, just shut up-” Will is close to hyperventilating, and Hannibal’s gentle gaze isn’t helping. “I can’t take you to a hospital and flee the country at the same time. I’m not leaving you.” He turns to Abigail. “Call 911!”

“Will,” Hannibal says, fondly, reaching out to cup Will’s face. His breaths are faster, more irregular. “You have to go. You’re a wanted man, now… Even if I lived, we’d never… get to see one another… again.”

Tears are streaming down’ Will’s face. He can barely hear Abigail on the phone, can barely feel his shivers as he comes down from his adrenalin rush, his whole world narrowed down to the man before him. “Don’t say that. We’ll get you help and we’ll figure something out.”

“Will, please,” Hannibal murmurs. He tries to speak again, but he chokes on blood, and there’s a frantic moment where Will isn’t sure if he’ll be able to breathe again. “Take… the case. Run.”

Will finds that he can’t bear to look at the raw emotion in Hannibal’s eyes, so he stares around the room instead. There’s Jack, still unconscious, though his chest is moving, blood pooling around him. Abigail is in the corner on the phone, still watching. As he looks Will realizes that Hannibal is right- there’s no way they’re walking out of this together. 

“You’ll- you’ll be alright, won’t you? Once you’ve recovered I’ll come back for you,” Will says, looking back down at Hannibal.

Hannibal smiles at him. “Of course… Dear Will. Go- now...”

Will leans down, kisses Hannibal once on the temple, softly, and then again on the lips, blood smearing messily on his face, before getting to his feet and stumbling out of the kitchen. He doesn’t look back at the kitchen as he snatches up the document case and heads to his car. He doesn’t look back as he drives away from the house, either.

You’ll be alright, won’t you? Of course.

Liar.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Hannibal's body: in Maryland, an unclaimed corpse is given to the State Anatomy Board for research purposes. The body is eventually cremated and put into a mass grave with all the other corpses the board has used that year.

Hannibal Lecter is dead. 

The media dissolves into a frenzy for months. The discovery and subsequent murder of the Chesapeake Ripper fascinates the public. Abigail, clever girl that she is, weaves a riveting tale of survival, painting Will and Hannibal as her monstrous captors. There's no evidence to contradict her story, and though Jack (horribly injured, retired from active duty but alive) will always be suspicious of her involvement in the Minnesota Shrike's crimes, he lets it rest, and in days Abigail is a media darling. 

Will is too miserable to be impressed, but he wishes her well in the brief moments he allows himself to think- it's not as though he cares what others think of him or Hannibal, and she's doing what she must. 

(Most of his days are spent fleeing mindlessly, not to avoid capture, but to give him something to do, something that distracts him from the heavy ache of Hannibal's death. He often ends up running on foot to exhaust himself. It doesn't work, but he keeps at it because he knows if he stops he'll never get going again.)

The FBI creates a task force dedicated to him and howls for blood. It's not enough, will never be enough, because Will has shackled himself to Hannibal's dying wish and he'll be damned if he lets himself get caught.

Will Graham disappears for months. The task force can find no sign of him; it's as though Will has turned to smoke and drifted through their fingers without them realizing it. Officially, he's a ghost. 

The following May there's an instance unofficially attributed to Will: Hannibal's body, turned over to the State Anatomy Board for dissection and study, is finally cremated for burial (save for his unique brain). Instead of languishing in a government facility until June, Hannibal's mortal remains vanish, and the unfortunate professor then in possession of the brain is found in pieces over a four-block radius. There is no evidence linking the crime to Will, but Jack, who has heard everything about Will and Hannibal's relationship from Abigail, knows better. His superiors are inclined to agree, but with no leads they're forced to give it up as a lost cause. 

The months turn to years and the task force is slowly picked apart by budget constraints and fresh cases. Jack retires completely to spend more time with Bella before she succumbs to her illness and Abigail Hobbs fades gracefully from the spotlight to pursue a career as a civil engineer. 

Will Graham, on the other hand, is never seen or heard from again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! Someday I'll write something with a happy ending. Probably. 
> 
> Now, at long last, I'm off to watch season three.
> 
> My tumblr username is 50mgtablets. Feel free to say hi!


End file.
